Echo Lake
by carebear88
Summary: What if Luke's family had sent him to the "de-gaying" camp? What if a closeted Noah was there as well? AU Luke/Noah. WINNER OF THE NUKE FF AWARD FOR BEST STORYLINE.
1. Orientation Pt 1

Luke looked around the van of depressed, silent faces, the faces of boys who hadn't known happiness for a long time. They stared out ahead as though looking anywhere else was a fool's errand, as though anything else existing on either side of the road wasn't real. Luke watched as a boy with a pierced ear dabbed the corner of his eye with his shirtsleeve. A boy with hot pink highlights gritted his teeth and clenched his fist just two rows up from Luke. Even the driver was silent.

Luke closed his eyes tightly and drew in a breath, gathering courage for himself. He turned to the boy sitting next to him and whispered, "How long until we get there?"

The boy with red hair and brown eyes looked him up and down. "Why?" he asked. "Are you as anxious as the rest of us to be deprogrammed?"

"Might as well enjoy the scenery," another boy in the next row said, not turning around. "We won't have this kind of freedom when we get to the camp."

"No talking!" The older gentleman in the passenger seat snapped. He turned in his seat and surveyed the van of ten or so young men as if warning the rest of them to be quiet. A smile suddenly broke the stern landscape of his mouth. "Now," he said. "Does anyone know any good gospels to get us through the rest of the trip?"

_The trip to hell_, Luke thought bitterly to himself. He looked around at the sad faces of his peers, but no one seemed eager to start. Half of them didn't even look like the straight-laced Christian type, based on their hair and clothes. Before the man in the passenger seat could open his mouth to belt out a gospel of his own, a tall, soft-faced African America boy held his head up and began to sing:

"_Know the one thing we did wrong,  
stayed in the wilderness far too long.  
Know the first thing we did right,  
was the day we started to fight.  
Keep your eye on the prize hold on, hold on_."

Luke recognized it as a spiritual song sung during the civil rights movement, could remember hearing it on all those documentaries he was made to watch in school where black teenagers, about as old as him, fought for their right to live equally. The atmosphere in the van seemed to change, and the sullen faces all began to perk and turn around to the boy signing, whose voice was strong and clear and made for a church pulpit. Luke found himself smiling ever-so-slightly, the first smile he had since his family made the final decision to bring him to the Kreger Foundation in the middle of nowhere to be . . . well, to be made "better."

"Okay, that's enough!" The man in the passenger seat called back. He wasn't amused and hardly uplifted by the boy's fitting choice of song. He turned back around and the van was silent again, chugging down the long stretch of road that cut through a thick patch of pines.

Luke rested his head on the window and closed his eyes tightly, trying to keep the words of the song from escaping his mind, the meaning of them and those who had sung it before in similar times of oppression.

"_Keep your eyes on the prize_," he mumbled to himself, "_hold on_."

0000000

Noah sighed as he flipped the page of his bedside Bible. He peered over the cover at the ten other bunkmates of his cabin, all of them reading different passages of the same book on their beds, all of them wearing the same khaki pants and blue polo shirt with the small, gold cross stitched into the breast. A steady steam of sunlight filtered in through the cabin window and splayed out between the rows of beds. Noah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, pretending he was at summer camp and enjoying an afternoon of quiet leisure, instead of doing an hour of mandatory Bible study at some far-right Christian camp he didn't belong in.

With his eyes still closed, Noah hovered a finger over the page he had turned to and pressed down on a random passage. He opened his eyes and read where his finger had fallen.

_"Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you." -James 4:7_

Noah snapped the book shut and set it on his lap. He looked around at the other young men who were casually reading, their eyes glazed over and their minds wandering.

"Psst!"

Noah looked over at his neighbor on his left who hissed at him. The boy, Charles, flipped to another page in his copy of the book and kept his eyes on the words as he spoke. "You better keep reading, sweetie," he mumbled. "If the cabin leader comes in and sees you daydreaming, you'll be cleaning this bunk until your fingernails fall off."

"Only if I get caught," Noah said, giving him a sideways smile he knew his friend could see.

"You're a rebel at heart, Noah," Charles whispered, smiling slightly as he continued to read.

"Shh!" A few of Noah's bunkmates shushed them.

Noah rolled his eyes and opened the Bible again to a different page. He propped in up on his lap, closed his eyes, and ran his finger down the page. When he was confident that he had found a good passage, he stopped his finger and opened his eyes to read the words, _"Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellers there is safety."-Proverbs 11:14_

Noah looked up as he heard voices from outside of the cabin. His bunkmates slowly abandoned their studying and were kneeling on their beds, looking out the window at the commotion.

"What's going on?" Noah asked. He got up from his bed and placed the Bible on his pillow, walking over to the window and standing between a pair of beds to get a better look outside. Charles joined him.

The young men watched from across the path in their patch of woods as a van pulled up to the main lodge. The lodge was barely visible through the tall pines, and the semi-circle of the other cabins in the clearing blocked the view of the lake. Noah squinted as the doors of the van opened and a fresh batch of new camp members arrived. For a split second, he envied their everyday clothes and sloppy hair. He envied that they had no idea what their parents had gotten them into. He envied their ignorance.

"Well wadda ya know?" Charles asked, peering out the window. "Fresh meat."

0000000

The first thing Luke thought when he stepped out of the van was how much of a summer camp this place looked like. The lodge was a modern-looking building, made to seem like a log cabin when in reality it probably had a TV and a working kitchen. Luke slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and watched as a man in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt came towards them from the lodge. He had a large smile on his young, red face, and his bleach-blond hair stood spiked on his head.

"Welcome!" he said, spreading his arms out. "Glad to see so many new faces!"

Luke looked around at the sullen eyes of his peers and wondered how the man in blue could be so cheerful with such a dead-looking crowd.

"My name is Randy Lorenz, I'm one of the cabin leaders here at Echo Lake." He motioned towards the lodge. "If you'll all follow me inside, we have a quick orientation speech to give you and we'll assign you cabins."

As the group of new camp members shuffled into the building like cattle, Luke turned to the man walking next to him, the African American boy who had been singing on the bus earlier, and said, "This is so _Shindler's List_." Luke watched for the young man to crack a smile at his quip, but the boy was silent, pensive, staring at his shoes as he continued shuffling to through the building.

They passed through the large entry, which looked more like a hotel lobby than an ordinary lodge in the woods, and entered a set of double doors to a room set up not unlike a church. It was a room with white, blinding walls and various pictures and quotes from the Bible plastered on them. At the head of the room where the pulpit was on stage, a large, gold crucifix hung on the wall behind the microphone. The group sat near the front, only filing up less than a quarter of the seats, and remained silent until the speaker came to the stage.

A man in a gray suit with black, slicked back hair looked over the crowd, and Luke instantly recognized him as Krieger, the man who convinced his parents to send him here, the man who owned the camp in the first place.

Krieger cleared his throat loudly over the microphone. "Welcome, everyone," he began.

Luke crossed his arms and frowned at the man's phony smile.

"It's so nice seeing so many new faces at our wonderful facility."

He went on to talk about the importance of the camp, how it would build character for the boys over the summer and make them into better men. He talked about a willingness to learn and the importance of keeping an open mind. Luke snorted at this comment and Krieger stopped talking. The other boys look at Luke.

"Well hello, there, Luke," Krieger said, looking directly at him with that icy smile of his. "I'm so happy you decided to come here."

Luke scoffed and shook his head, slumping down in his seat slightly. "I didn't _decide_ anything," he said.

Krieger paused, that grin plastered to his face as he sized Luke up and down. "Be that as it may, I hope our program can be of some use for you." He nodded his head at Luke and looked out over the small crowd. "Each of you will be assigned a guide, someone to help show you around and teach you the rules of the establishment. Mr. Lorenz is passing around a brochure with the camp's rules, and your guide will assist you in gathering your required uniforms."

The boy with hot-pink highlights raised his hand slightly. "What about the stuff we brought with us?"

"Oh, you'll have no use for that," Mr. Krieger said, his smile unwavering. "In fact, all of your belongings are now considered contraband, and will be placed in lockers in the basement on the main lodge here."

Luke took a brochure as the stack was being passed down his row. Before he had time to read it, Krieger said his farewells and soon the boys were ushered out of the room again.

Luke didn't say a word when the camp counselors took his things as the young men were being shuffled from room to room. He didn't protest when his new uniform was shoved in his hands as though he had just joined the army instead of a summer program. Luke watched, but didn't say a thing when he saw the boy with pink highlights get sent to a room where another counselor was waiting with a pair of scissors.

0000000

"This is the mess hall where we have our meals."

Luke looked at the building behind the lodge where his guide was pointing, a building that overlooked the pristine lake nestled in thick pines. Luke was surprised that his guide was one of the camp members, a boy about as enthusiastic about his job as a mortician putting makeup on a man who had his face blown off.

His guide, who's name was Andy, walked with him further down the dirt path, and pointed at a cluster of smaller buildings in the likeness of a log cabin.

"Those are the offices," Andy said. "The nurse's station, the pastor's office, the detention room—"

"Detention room?" Luke asked, still clutching his mandated clothes to his chest.

Andy gave him a look as though he were sick of explaining things a million times and nodded. "The detention room."

Luke didn't press the matter. He followed his taller, clean-shaven guide up the hill away from the lake. "So . . . what are you in for?" Luke asked.

"Jay-walking," Andy said. He looked at Luke. "What do you _think_ I'm in here for?"

Luke paused as he struggled to keep up. "How long?" he asked.

"Every summer since I was fifteen. I'll be eighteen at the end of September, so you better believe this is my _last_ summer."

"You come here by choice?" Luke asked.

"Nobody comes here by choice," Andy said. "My parents threatened to kick me out if I didn't come here, so I got no other options."

"You like it here?"

Luke question made Andy stop just as they reached the top of the hill. He looked at Luke, his eyes searching the newbie's face for a hint of sarcasm. When he realized Luke's question was serious, he frowned.

"Where the hell do you think you are, man?"

Luke blinked at Andy's sharp tone. He fell a step behind as his guide turned and continued walking on.

"These are the west cabins," Andy said, pointing to the small log cabins sitting in a semi-circle in the clearing. "You're in cabin three, right there." He pointed to Luke's cabin on the far right. "You're lucky 'cause it's right next to the bathhouse."

Luke looked next to his cabin at a longer cabin hidden in the brush that served at the bathhouse. He swallowed hard as he followed Andy up the stairs to his cabin, the reality of his stay now sinking in. Andy rapped on the door and entered without waiting for an ok from one of the residents.

"Look alive, boys!" he called, standing aside to let Luke in. "We got a fresh one here."

Luke watched as the ten or so bunkmates abandoned their collective reading and stood from their beds. Their gaze instantly fell on Luke—his clothes, his hair, his wide-eyed obliviousness. They were sizing him up, judging him. Luke wondered if this was what the first day of prison was like. He clutched his clothes tighter to his chest, and longed for home more than anything else in the world.

**To be continued**


	2. Orientation Pt 2

When Noah first saw the new member with blond hair and an unsure way about him, he wondered if the guy knew what was in store for him.

"Kid's probably replacing Ted after he went home with pneumonia," Charles whispered to Noah.

"I wondered who would take Ted's place," Noah said, looking at the young man who held his uniform close to his chest.

"Everyone, this is Luke," Andy said to the group. He turned to his charge. "I'm gonna go get Ricky—he's the cabin leader. He'll take you through the rest of orientation."

"Can't wait," Luke said, smiling half-heartedly. As Andy left, Luke looked at the cabin of campers, boys who would be his bunkmate's for the rest of the summer. He cleared his throat painfully. "So, uh . . . which one's my bed?" he asked.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea and Luke spotted and empty bed near the corner. He walked slowly to it, the eyes of his roommates burning his skin as they surveyed him up and down. He set his uniform on the neatly-maid mattress and sat at the head of the bed. Slowly, the room of boys went back to their own beds. Some picked up their reading again, others watched the newcomer with curiosity.

Luke laced his fingers together between his knees and turned to a curly-headed boy with large glasses in the bed next to his. "We all share a cabin, then?" Luke asked him.

The boy pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and opened the Bible to the middle. "Don't get too excited," he said. "The cabin leaders watch us like hawks. You can't take a piss without being spied on."

"Yeah, you wish, Eli," a boy from the bunk across from him said.

Eli rolled his eyes at the scrawny boy. "Keep dreaming, Trevor." He buried his nose in the book and Luke raised his eyebrows at their banter.

Luke took the brochure that had been handed to him in the main lodge and flipped through it. He read the long list of rules on the back and scoffed at their ridiculousness.

" 'Hair must be long enough to be pinched between two fingers,'" he read. " 'Absolutely no singing of songs unrelated to a Christian nature,'" Luke paused as he read another rule further down the list marked under 'Safety.' " 'Members are to remain within the safe zone while in the program.'" Luke looked out over his cabin. "What's the 'safe zone'?"

A tall boy with dark hair and stunning blue eyes stood from his bed and looked at Luke. "It's the amount of space we're allowed between each other, unsupervised."

Luke stood and faced the man. He seemed different from the rest who were ready to judge him the minute he came into the cabin—quieter, more reserved. His willingness to speak up when everyone else grew tired of him intrigued Luke.

"How much space are we allowed?" Luke asked him.

The man looked around the cabin as a few of their bunk mates watched their conversation. He moved closer, almost hesitantly, as though Luke might have a contagious disease simply by being a newcomer. The man held his arm out straight, his fingertips just barely touching Luke's chest.

"This much," the guy said.

Luke looked down the man's arm at his handsome, unassuming face, and felt butterflies rising in his stomach. "Oh," he said, suppressing a smile.

The man lowered his arm and offered his hand to Luke. "I'm Noah," he said.

Luke took his hand in his and felt his skin become electrified with energy. "I'm Luke," he said. "Nice to meet you."

Noah gave him a small smile, and Luke felt the room spin. Their handshake lingered on and Luke wondered if it was intentional.

"Campers to your bunks!" A voice called.

Noah instantly pulled away and the boys rushed to the head of their beds as a man in his mid-thirties with a large neck and balding head entered the cabin. To Luke, he looked like the kind of failed pro-athlete who taught high school gym when he wasn't bulking up on power shakes. When he stepped in the cabin, all went silent.

Luke moved back towards his bed as the man moved towards him, hands behind his back and a frown on his face. He wore the same khaki pants and blue polo as the rest of his co-workers. The man stood before Luke and looked him up and down.

"I'm Ricky, your cabin leader," he said. "You will refer to me as Sir. Not 'dude,' not, 'man,' not 'Hey, you.' Got that?"

Luke nodded. "Okay," he said, unimpressed with the man's tough-guy act.

"This is my cabin," Ricky said, getting right in Luke's face. "If you break any of my rules, you go to the detention center, hear me?"

Luke nodded again.

Ricky pulled back and watched Luke's eyes. "I believe in two things," he said, "the Bible, and following the rules." He began to pace up and down the row of beds as though addressing the entire cabin instead of just the newcomer. "In this cabin, there is absolutely _no_ physical contact with the other boys. Lights go out at 8pm and I expect you to be in bed by that time. Breakfast is at nine, lunch at one, and dinner at six. We have a mandatory reflection period at exactly 3pm every day where we read the Bible or engage in prayer. If you don't follow these times, you'll go directly to the detention center, got it?"

"Sir, yes sir," Luke mumbled. He knew he was being condescending, he knew the cabin leader would notice. What he didn't know was how badly Ricky would take it.

"Is that lip from you, Snyder?" he barked.

Luke's eyes widened. "No," he said.

"No, what?" Ricky said, getting right in Luke's face again.

"No, sir!" Luke cried.

"Good!" Ricky cried. He paused and looked around the room to see if the other boys had noticed that his authority had slipped for a moment. "Furthermore," Ricky said, settling his eyes back on Luke, "I'm obligated to remind you that God hates the sin, but loves the sinner. If you're unwilling to commit yourself to God's love—"

"I'll burn forever in a fiery pit of hell?" Luke asked. To his surprise, Ricky smiled and chuckled.

"Well wadda ya know, boys?" he asked, looking around the room. "Our new friend here is a smart-aleck." He focused on Luke. "Do the people at home know how much of a smart-aleck you are?"

Luke's self-satisfied smile faded. He remained silent.

"What?" Ricky asked. "No quick come-back?"

Luke clenched his jaw, fighting every urge to tell this jerk off.

Ricky smiled again. "I didn't think so." He turned on his heels and put his hands behind his back. "Luke, you'll follow me to the main lodge to continue your orientation," he said, making his way to the door. "The rest of you head out to Serenity Lodge for group sessions."

The cabin full of boys headed out at once with Ricky's command. Luke stayed behind, processing all he was hearing, feeling as though he were in a dream he couldn't wake up from. He slowly sat on his bed and stared at the floor.

Noah saw that Luke had fallen behind, and once the rest of the boys were out of the cabin, he stood near the doorway and motioned towards Luke. "Come on," he said. "You're already on Ricky's bad side, don't make it worse—"

"I don't belong here," Luke said, more to himself.

Noah moved closer. "As far as I can tell, none of the other guys belong here, either."

"This can't be happening," Luke said. He looked up at Noah. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Noah pursed his lips and sighed. He wanted to reach out to the new member and tell him it would be okay. He wanted to lie and say that it wasn't as bad as he thought it was in this place. He wanted to give him a reality check and let him know that it did, indeed, get worse from here on out, but he didn't have the heart to give the poor guy the bad news.

"Come on," he said again. "The first day is the hardest."

"Noah?"

The two turned to the voice in the doorway. Noah's friend Charles looked from Luke to Noah, a glint of worry in his eyes, as though they were discussing secrets about him behind his back.

"I'm coming," Noah said. He turned back to Luke. "We have to go," he said.

Luke hesitated, then stood and followed Noah out the door. Charles wedged himself between them, and from the corner of his eye, Luke saw Noah's friend give him a dirty look, one that meant Luke was treading on dangerous territory.

0000000

After surviving the rest of his orientation, Luke sat with his cabin at dinner and poked at his flaky mashed potatoes. He tried to ignore the camp counselors as they walked back and forth down the row of tables, watching them like prison guards as the boys ate. Luke tugged at the collar of his new uniform.

"I have a question," he said, setting his fork down and looking up at his table mates.

"Yes, our parent's made us come here," a boy sitting across Luke and next to Eli said. "No, we're not all fags, and yes, we all hate it here."

Luke smiled and nodded. The boy with green eyes and a buzz cut held out his hand. "I'm Ryan," he said.

Luke took his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"The girl's camp is across the lake," another boy said, sitting directly next to Luke. He ate his food quickly, as though it were reaching an expiration date. "I'm Paul," he said with a mouthful of food.

"Paul's here on a technicality-ain't that right, Paul?" Ryan asked.

Paul nodded and shoveled more food into his mouth even as he was chewing the last bit he had just eaten. "My dad's one of the counselor's," he swallowed his large gob of food and pointed his fork at Luke. "He makes me come every summer to make sure I don't turn soft."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

Paul took a sip from his tiny carton of milk and shrugged. "I'm what you'd call a 'player for both teams.' Sometimes I like pink, and sometimes I like blue."

"Eli here is a rare specimen," Ryan said, putting his arm around the boy with curly hair and thick-rimed glasses. "He's a straight as they come."

"No touching!" one of the counselor's barked from across the room.

Ryan pulled his arm away and held his hands up as if to surrender. He gave Luke a wink and prodded at his food with his fork.

"So why are you here?" Luke asked Eli.

"I'm a Jew," Eli said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "My ma married a Baptist and converted. When I wouldn't join their church, she sent me here to try and change my mind." He flicked a pea across the table with his spoon. "Hell of a lot of good it's been doing me so far."

Luke offered him a sympathetic smile.

"What about you, Snyder?" Ryan asked.

Luke grinned at his food and lowered his head. "Oh, I'm about as straight as a rainbow."

His comrades at the table laughed and Luke felt himself feeling better, despite being asked to change his clothes, despite having to sit through another hour of orientation discussing what was in store for him during the summer, and despite being certain that the people who ran this place were, indeed, crazy.

Luke heard laughter from down the table and saw Noah chatting with Charles and a few others from their cabin. He noticed how well Noah seemed to get along with everyone, and leaned in closer to Ryan and Eli.

"So what about Noah? Is he . . ."

"Gorgeous?" Ryan asked, looking over at the dark-haired hunk. "Absolutely. He's as straight as they come, though."

"You shoulda seen him the first week he got here," Eli said. "The guy was so uptight, you could shove a lump of coal up his ass and get a diamond in about two seconds."

"What changed?" Luke asked, looking down the table at Noah.

Eli shrugged. "He's still uptight. Never talks back to the counselors, always goes to group therapy."

"I guess he figured he'd have an easier time if he lightened up a bit," Ryan said to Luke. "At first he wouldn't even talk to any of us. Then he got some kind of letter from his dad and things changed."

The three watched Noah as he ate a joked with his end of the table. Charles let out a loud laugh and waved his hand at his friend.

"Poor Charles," Eli said.

Luke looked at him. "What?"

"He's hopelessly in love with Noah," Ryan said. "The kid doesn't realize it's a lost cause. Hell, even if Noah _were_ gay, this is the last place on earth you'd want to develop a crush on anyone."

Luke pressed his lips in a thin line and slowly looked over at Noah again. "Yeah," he said. Noah noticed him watching, and gave him a slight nod and smile. Luke smiled back, feeling as though he were standing in the 'safe zone,' an arm apart from Noah with his fingers barely brushing up against him.

**To be continued**


	3. The First Night

The reality of Luke's situation sunk in the minute the got into bed that night. The lights were put out immediately after Ricky inspected the bunk—making sure the boys were in their required sleeping uniforms, that all of them had taken their shift at the bathhouse to brush their teeth, and that there was no talking amongst the campers as they settled into their beds.

Luke raised his head from his pillow slightly and looked around the moon-bathed room as the rest of his cabin mates lay in their beds like the obedient campers they were. None made a comment in the dark of the room, none attempted to get up or even shift slightly in their beds. He looked over as Eli lay with his back to him in the next bed.

"Hey," Luke whispered.

"Shh!" A camper from across the room hissed.

Luke was instantly taken aback by the rigidity of the other boy. He almost turned over to abandon his inquiry, but Eli rolled over on his back and looked at Luke.

"What?" Eli whispered.

Luke turned on his side to face the curly-headed boy. "We sleep here alone?" he asked.

"Just us and the mosquitoes," Eli said.

"I swear to God, if you don't shut up, Snyder—"

"Ah, leave him alone, Trevor!" Another camper barked back

A resounding _Shh!_ hissed throughout the cabin and Luke looked around, amused. There was silence for another beat before Luke went on.

"Aren't they afraid we'll try to do something?" Luke asked Eli. "I mean, they breathe down our necks everywhere else, why do they leave us alone in our cabin of all places?"

"Because," Eli whispered back, "they have a night crew that inspects the cabins every hour. They shine a flashlight in to make sure nothing is going on. It's damn annoying if you can't sleep—"

Suddenly, a pillow flew across the room and hit Eli in the face.

"Dude, we're trying to sleep!" A disgruntled camper cried softly.

Eli sat up and threw the pillow back at the perpetrator, a boy with blond hair and bad acne. Eli flounced back on his bed and turned his head to Luke. "You done with twenty questions, newbie?"

Luke nodded slowly and rolled over onto his back. He pulled the covers up closer to his chest and sighed.

"Hey," Eli whispered.

Luke looked at him.

"Don't worry," said the boy with curly hair. "The first night's the worst. You'll get used to it."

Luke offered him a small smile and nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Eli gave him a small nod of his own and turned back over on his side. Luke put a hand over his eyes and tried not to think about home, tried not to think about how unfair it was that he'd be eighteen just a few weeks after he'd be let out of this place for the summer.

0000000

_Luke was surrounded by hatred, choking on it as a tall, faceless man in a suit stood above him and shoved it down his throat. It tasted like hot pennies, made him feel weak and scared and oh, God, __why__ was he here in the first place—?_

_Keep your eye on the prize, hold—_

_Luke ran towards a lake surrounded by fire trees, stepping on a dock covered in pine needles that pricked his skin like thousands of tiny syringes. Off into the distance, somewhere across the lake, a baby was crying, crying like a—_

_(Sinner)_

—_bird taken from its nest._

_Luke ran further down the ever-stretching dock, a dock that seemed to never end but sag and sway under his weight as the rotting wood fell in chunks into the water. Finally, at the end, a woman in red . . . a red shirt . . . a pregnant belly._

"_Mom!"_

_Luke reached out for her, reached out to pull her back from the edge of the dock so they could run back to shore, to safety. His mother opened her mouth to speak, her lips out of synch with the words she was saying—_

"_What did I do wrong?"_

_He wanted to tell her he was sorry, he wanted to hug her and cry on her shoulder and feel the way he felt when he was five and tear-stained from a scraped knee and his mother was there to make it all better and—_

"_I'm so disappointed in you."_

_Luke reached his hand out to touch her—_

_(the safety zone)_

—_to bring her back from the edge, but the baby cried louder and disrupted him, made him angry. If only that baby would stop crying, if only it would shut up for a second and stop judging him so he could think . . ._

"_Luke?"_

_He reached out to pull her back, but instead of his hand grabbing her, Luke pushed his mother away, pushed her back into the lake and watched as she fell . . . fell . . . her face blank and empty and disappointed . . ._

"Luke!" A voice yelled

"NO!" Luke cried. He bolted upright, chasing after his mother as she continued to fall behind his eyelids, and grabbed onto the warm body that now sat in front of him.

"It's okay!" the voice said. "You're fine, calm down."

Luke snapped his eyes open and looked around as he breathed heavily. For a split second, he didn't recognize where he was—not the cabin with dull moonlight shining through the windows, not the ten or so other campers staring at him from their beds as they had been roused from their sleep. Luke pulled back from the person he had his arms wrapped around, and saw that it was Noah.

"It's alright," Noah said, looking into his eyes. "You were having a nightmare."

Luke swallowed hard and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His body was drenched. He looked around at the other half-sleeping, worried faces of his bunk mates. They were staring at him as if he had just come out of an exorcism.

"I'm sorry," Luke mumbled, sitting further up on his bed, away from Noah. He felt embarrassed and scared and completely out of his element. "I so sorry, I . . ." He looked around the room again. "I forgot where I was for a minute."

Noah continued to stare at him worriedly, his soft blue eyes probing Luke for a hint of reassurance. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Luke nodded hastily and put a hand over his heart as if to steady the beating. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked at the others who were still awake, staring at him. "I'm sorry I woke you guys."

"Hey, don't sweat it, Snyder," Ryan said from two bunks over. He gave Luke a reassuring grin. "We all had nightmares when we first got here."

"Are you kidding me, Ryan?" Noah's friend, Charles, said from the other end of the room. "Snyder sounded like he was possessed by a demon!" Charles gave Luke a warning glance. "If you pull shit like that again, you'll get us all in trouble."

"What are you talking about?" Luke asked.

"Don't play stupid!" Charles yelled. "You were all over Noah when you came out of your little nightmare, if it really _was_ a nightmare—"

"Hey, give him a break, Charles," Noah said. He slowly looked over at Luke and stood from the edge of his bed as though the rest of the campers would accuse them of starting something.

"If one of the night captains were to see this crap—"

"Shut _up_, Charles!" half of the cabin yelled.

Suddenly, the door to the cabin sprung open and a camp counselor Luke didn't recognized charged into the room and turned the lights on, startling the rest of his bunk mates.

"Up!" the broad-shouldered counselor cried. "Everybody up, let's go!"

The group of boys whispered amongst themselves as they got up from their beds, some of them who had still been sleeping, and a few looked over at Luke as if it was his fault.

"See what you did, Snyder?" Charles called back to him.

Luke got out of bed on wobbling legs and followed his bunk mates out of the cabin and into the cool night air. The rest of the cabins on the hill were also being evacuated—boys with messy hair and sleepy eyes shuffling to the clearing as various counselors ushered them out in the open with flashlights.

They all lined up in a single row along the dirt path leading from one cabin to the next, the boys rubbing their arms to keep warm. Luke looked down the path towards the main lodge and saw all the lights on along the path, including a floodlight near the main entrance.

"What time is it?" Eli asked, yawning.

"About three in the morning," Ryan said a few yards down the row.

Luke looked over a Noah, who was a few men down from him. Noah saw him watching and Luke instantly looked away as Charles noticed, too. He leaned next to Trevor who was standing beside him and said, "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Trevor said.

Luke looked down the path towards the main lodge and saw a familiar face approaching them—his guide from orientation, Andy. Andy charged up the hill with a clipboard and a hoodie, his face weary from his night of interrupted sleep.

"Andy!" Luke called.

The camper paused and looked at Luke as his name was called out. He glanced over at the other counselors as they continued evacuating the cabins and made his way over to Luke. The members of Luke's cabin huddled closer as Andy approached.

"What's happening?" Luke asked.

Andy sighed and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was spying on their conversation. "One of the campers from the west cabins is missing," he whispered. "They're checking the bunks and asking questions to see where he might be."

"He escaped?" Luke asked.

Andy shrugged. "I only know what they've told me so far. If he _did_ escape, you can bet the kid will be back by sunrise. No one stays missing for too long around here." Andy turned and walked towards a counselor as his name was called. He gave Luke and his bunk mates a look that said he was sorry for not knowing more.

"What an idiot," Trevor said. "That kid's gonna be in the _oubliette_ for the rest of the summer for trying to bust out."

Luke looked at him. "What's the _oubliette_?" he asked.

"It's a place that makes the detention center look like a trip to the Bahamas," Ryan said. He looked at Luke worriedly. "Just pray you'll never have to be sent there."

"Have you?" Luke asked.

Before Ryan could open his mouth to answer, a whistle was blown off by the main lodge. The counselors instantly began herding the campers back to their cabins.

"Show's over, kids!" one of them yelled. "Back to your bunks, let's go!"

Andy hurried over to where Luke and his bunk mates were standing. "They found him," he said. He paused, studying the reactions of his fellow campers, and waved his hand towards the cabins. "C'mon, guys, you heard them. Back to bed."

Luke lingered outside as his comrades went back to their cabin, the counselors waving them in. He watched towards the main lodge as other counselors huddled around, talking amongst themselves in a very serious manner.

"C'mon, Snyder," Andy said, ushering him towards his cabin. "Let's go."

Luke reluctantly went back inside, following the rest of his bunk mates as they hunkered down in their beds. Luke got under the covers and listened intently at the noise outside, as if he could hear the voices of the counselors near the main lodge if he tried hard enough.

After about half an hour of lying in bed, restless with curiosity, Luke sat up and threw the covers off himself. He looked around to make sure his bunk mates had fallen back to sleep, and when he was sure his movement wouldn't wake them, he crept out of the cabin and tiptoed down the path in his bare feet.

Luke looked around to make sure he was alone, and when he saw a night captain lingering near the bathhouse with a flashlight, he ran across the clearing and hid behind a tree until the man was gone. Luke stayed in the brush and peered out over the hill at the main lodge, watching as a van pulled up to the entrance with three counselors, including Krieger himself, standing outside.

The van door opened and Luke saw a young boy, no older than fifteen, being led out the vehicle by another counselor. The boy was crying—his hair and clothes a mess, his body trembling. He fell to his knees and the counselor who had been with him joined the others near the entrance. Luke watched from a distance as Krieger came up to the boy and stood before him, a giant facing down a petrified mouse.

Krieger asked the boy a question and the kid lowered his head as he sobbed.

"I just wanted to go home!" Luke heard him cry.

Krieger said something else Luke couldn't make out, and the boy cried louder.

"Please don't!" The kid wailed. "I just wanted to see my mom—"

Luke let out a soft gasp as Krieger raised his hand and struck the boy across the face. Luke put a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, and nearly yelped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Luke whipped around and saw Noah standing before him.

Noah put a finger to his lips to motion to Luke to keep quiet, and waved him away from his spot. Luke followed Noah through the brush quietly, looking over his shoulder only once to watch the boy being dragged inside the main lodge by two of the other counselors.

"What are you doing out here?" Noah asked.

Luke hesitated. "I wanted to see what was going on."

"Yeah, well, you'll get us both in trouble if you don't watch it," Noah said sharply, turning slightly to give Luke a look.

"You didn't have to come out here," Luke said.

"Yeah, I did," Noah said.

"Why?" Luke asked.

Noah paused as he continued walking ahead of Luke. "Because . . . ." he began. He stopped and faced Luke. "Because you shouldn't have to get into so much trouble on your first day."

Luke smiled slightly at Noah's response. "That's too bad for you," he said. He leaned in closer, close enough to whisper, "'Cause I'm made to get into trouble."

Noah gave him a look like he was hardly amused. "Cute," he said. "Real cute."

Luke laughed and followed Noah as he continued walking. "That's what I was going for."

They reached the edge of the brush at the clearing, Noah held his hand out to signal for them to wait. They watched with their breath held as a night captain walked across the clearing to cabin one from the bathhouse.

"Wait for him to check the window," Noah whispered.

They waited until the counselor was on the steps of cabin one, shining his flashlight into the screen door at the sleeping campers. "Go!" Noah cried.

The boys rushed through the clearing, crouching low as if avoiding an invisible wire that would trip an alarm. When they got to the door of the cabin, Noah opened it slowly to avoid waking anyone else, and the boys entered quietly. Luke closed the door so it didn't slam shut and turned to Noah.

"Thanks . . . you know, for going back," he whispered.

Noah nodded. "Sure." He pointed to Luke. "Just promise me you won't make a habit out of it."

Luke chuckled. "Well, I can't promise that, but you're not obligated to find me whenever I happen to wander off." He made his way to his bed and sat on the edge.

Noah sat on his own bed and removed his shoes. "Remind me to put a bell on you the next time I see you."

"Is that in violation of the dress code?" Luke said with a grin.

Noah laughed softly. "Bending the rules a little never hurt anyone."

Luke climbed into bed and pulled the covers over himself. "Looks like I'm not the only one who was made to get into trouble."

Noah laughed again and shook his head. He watched as Luke lay back on his mattress and followed the man's lead by climbing under his own covers.

"Hey," Luke said, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Noah from across the other sleeping campers. "I'm sorry about before . . . you know, when I was having my nightmare." He paused, lowering his head. "I didn't know it was you when I grabbed you like that."

A small smile curled Noah's lips. "Don't worry about it," he said. He paused, studying Luke as the man looked at him from across the silvery light of the room, his face hidden in shadows yet somehow still bright. He was like a beacon of hope in an otherwise foggy storm. "Goodnight, Luke," he said, lying down on his mattress.

Luke grinned. "Goodnight, Noah." He laid his head back on his pillow, his face stretched in an uncontrollable grin. No matter how long he tossed and turned, no matter how many times he buried his face in his pillow, Luke couldn't help but feel the butterflies flap around his stomach in a dance of happiness.

**To be continued**


	4. The Way Things Work

"I'm so tired," Ryan sighed, rubbing his eyes as he sat at his cabin's table in the mess hall for breakfast.

"Why'd that kid have to ruin the night for the rest of us?" Eli said, yawning as he sat next to Luke.

With his elbow propped on the table, Luke rested his hand on his chin and pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork. "What do you think will happen to him?" he asked his bunkmates, referring to the boy who had tried to escape the night before.

"The same thing that'll happen to you if you set one foot outside the premises," Paul said, shoving a large piece of French toast into his mouth. He chewed like a dog sucking peanut butter through his teeth and pointed his fork at Luke. "They'll shove the fear of God so far down your throat, you'll be shitting brimstone for a week."

"Not that they don't already do that on a regular basis," Ryan said.

The table was silent for a moment, each of the boys from cabin three pondering their situation. Luke slowly looked over at Noah from across the table, who had his head bent low, seemingly fixated on the intricacies of his breakfast.

Charles saw Luke looking at Noah and felt a ball of fire growing in his stomach, a sickly feeling that made him jealous to his very core. He hadn't planned on ratting on Noah, hadn't planned on telling everyone what he had heard last night when—

"Ask Luke where he was last night," Charles said loudly.

The table perked up. Noah's eyes instantly shot to Luke, and Luke felt his face burn. He looked at Charles, who had a tiny, smug smile on his face. Charles addressed the table again as if reporting a piece of hot gossip.

"I heard Luke step out of the cabin after that kid got caught," he said. He looked at Luke, his smile growing wider. "Noah followed him."

The heads of the table turned to Luke, and he looked around like a witch being accused of heresy. "What?" he asked. "I just wanted to see what was going on with that kid."

Noah turned to Charles and whispered, "What the hell is your problem?"

Charles looked at him. "I thought since you two are such good friends now, you might want to let everyone else know."

Ryan pointed to Luke. "You know you can't do stuff like that, man," he said.

"Yeah," Eli said. "What if you got caught? And with Noah there with you—"

"Look, I was only out there for, like, five minutes!" Luke cried. He lowered his voice as a counselor passed by their table. "I didn't ask Noah to follow me."

"Yeah, why _did_ you follow him, Mayer?" Paul asked Noah, chomping on a piece of toast.

Noah looked around the table as his bunkmates waited for an answer. He seemed trapped, like a deer caught in oncoming traffic. He glanced at Luke, and Luke gave him a look that said he was sorry he suddenly found himself in this mess.

Noah opened his mouth to speak, then shut it instantly and rose from the table. He left without saying a word, walking down the row of tables towards the bathrooms. Luke watched him leave as his bunkmates whispered amongst themselves at the table.

Ryan reached over Noah's empty space and shoved Charles on the shoulder, hard. "Nice job, Chuck," he said.

"Yeah, way to make the morning bright," Eli said.

A whistle sounded suddenly and the mess hall full of young men rose from their seats. Luke followed a beat behind, still struggling to get the routine down when everyone else seemed to do the motions like second nature. He followed his table out the door, the men being led by a camp counselor across the path. Luke saw Noah a few boys ahead and rushed to catch up to him.

"Whoa, easy there, partner," Ryan said, pulling Luke back by the shoulder in his place in line.

Luke looked at him. "What? I just wanted—"

"Listen to me on this one, Snyder," Ryan whispered, leaning in so their conversation couldn't be heard. "I know Charles was a jerk, but you have to understand something about this place—they pit us against each other."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked,

"They beat you over the head with the rules so much," Eli said as he walked next to Luke, "it's easy to turn someone in for misconduct."

"If one person screws up," Ryan said, "the rest of us have to pay for it."

Luke held up a hand. "Yeah, but—"

"It's just the way it works, man," Ryan said. "Whatever you got going on with Noah, you better make it stop. It's cool that you're friends and everything, but if you start making trouble for everyone, you better believe I'm gonna turn your ass in."

Luke looked a Ryan, a guy who seemed so nice and genuine at first. His malice seemed out of place, as if he were speaking a foreign language he couldn't pronounce properly.

"Please don't take it personally, Luke," Eli said, apologizing for Ryan. "We're just looking out for you, dude."

Luke looked ahead at Noah's back as the crowd surged ahead. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut, as if a light had gone out before his eyes and left him in darkness to blindly grope at cold walls. He sighed, trying in vain to push the feeling away, and looked out across the path to the lake.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Group sessions," Ryan said. "Once a day, five days a week."

Luke nodded. He stole a glance at Noah again ahead of the group, and when the tall, dark-hair man turned his head slightly and caught Luke's eye, Luke lowered his head and stared at his shoes.

0000000

Charles watched the Snyder kid walk with Eli and Ryan a few feet back in the line. At least this high-and-mighty newbie wasn't walking with Noah, at least he was chatting it up with two other losers instead of setting his hooks into Noah with that smile and those eyes and that hair . . .

Charles jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his left and saw Jamie Bents leaning into him, his shaggy brown hair nearly covering a pair of icy gray eyes as he looked Charles up and down.

"Gimme the good news, Chuck," he said. He made a kissing motion with his lips.

"Piss off!" Charles cried, pushing Jamie away.

"Bents!" A shorter, silver-haired counselor cried from the outskirts of the line. He gave Jamie a warning look.

"I tripped!" Jamie cried. He flashed the counselor a wink and laughed. Jamie leaned in to Charles again and whispered, "So wadda ya got on our new boy over there?" He motioned towards Luke ahead in the crowd.

The warm feel of Jamie's dirt-and-sour-milk breath in his ear caused Charles to shudder. Everything in general about this lanky seventeen year old caused him to shudder, but the way he managed to sneak up on unsuspecting campers and touch their waists without being spotted by the counselors was the icing on the cake. If Jamie pushed you, you stayed down. If he walked next to you, you let him touch your lower back. If he whispered in your ear, you damn well better whisper back.

"Well?" Jamie asked. "Is he a fag or is he a Jew like that kike Eli?"

Charles looked at the back of Luke's head as they came upon the Serenity Lodge for group sessions. He thought about the way the new kid seemed to make such an impression on Noah in only one day. He thought about how charming and fresh-faced Luke was in comparison to the boys who were slowly being eaten away by this God-awful place He thought about the way Luke and Noah joked last night when they came in together, when they thought he was asleep and couldn't hear their playful banter, banter he wished he could have had with Noah since the day they met . . .

Charles looked at Jamie as they entered the lodge, and whispered, "He's fair game."

0000000

Luke tried his hardest not to stare at Noah as the group session played out in the cool basement of the Serenity Lodge. The boys sat in a circle on steel chairs. The counselor, the first woman Luke had seen in his entire stay, sat near the entrance with a clipboard in her lap and a comforting smile on her face. The wood-paneled walls were plastered with hand-drawn signs that advertised success. _'Progress is made everyday!'_ one said. A steady stream of sunlight filtered in through the windows along the ceiling, and a plain white fan circulated air around the room as the boys sat slouched in their chairs.

Luke's mind wandered to how he could apologize for putting Noah in that position at the breakfast table. He didn't pay attention to the stories of the other campers he had yet to formally meet, nor did he participate in any of the discussions that followed each story. When Noah finally saw Luke staring, he sighed and looked away quickly.

"Luke?"

Luke broke his gaze away from Noah and looked at the counselor, whose name was Theresa, as she sat on the other end of the circle. The young, pretty red-head with freckles and bangs smiled at him.

"Huh?" he asked.

"We haven't heard a word out of you since you got here," she said. Her voice was sweet and nonjudgmental, like a kindergarten teacher. She didn't seem like the rest of the counselors. She placed her clipboard flat on her lap. "I know you're new, so I'll give you some leeway today. We generally go around the circle and talk about our feelings. If you're sad, angry . . . maybe you'd like to get something off your chest about your family—?"

"I'm fine," Luke said. Then, feeling like his tone was too sharp, he gave her a polite grin.

Theresa nodded her head slowly. "Are you sure?" she asked. When Luke didn't respond, she smiled slightly. "Alright, I'll give you a pass today. But tomorrow you're definitely speaking."

_Don't count on it_, Luke thought.

He glanced at Noah, who was studying the lines in the palm of his hand. Luke felt someone else's eyes on him as Theresa focused on another boy to steer the discussion towards. He turned his head to the right and saw a scrawny, gray-eyed boy with shaggy brown hair looking at him, a small, mischievous grin on his face. He winked at Luke and all at once Luke's blood ran cold. The boy suddenly raised his hand, his eyes still studying Luke, undressing him with his mind.

Theresa pointed to the boy. "Yes, Jaime?" she asked.

Jaime cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from Luke. "I have something I'd like to get off my chest," he said, sitting straight in his chair.

Theresa perked in her seat. "Well, better late than never, Jaime," she said. "Please continue."

Jaime gave another seductive look at Luke before focusing on the counselor with a mock-serious face. "I know I've only been here a few weeks," he began, looking around the room. "I know a few of you here don't like me much—"

"Don't be silly, Jaime," Theresa said. "You're God's child, just like the rest of us."

Jaime held his hands together in his lap, the very picture of pity in a room full of judging eyes. Luke quickly glanced around at the faces of the other boys, and he could tell they weren't buying any of it.

"Be that as it may," Jaime said. "I want to say that I'm truly sorry for being so horrible—I know I've gotten in trouble a few times . . ." he paused for dramatic effect. "But I think I'm finally starting to overcome my homosexual urges." He raised his hands towards the ceiling. "God has finally started to show me the way."

Luke looked at Theresa to see if she believed any of this drivel. Her eyes were watery with tears and she placed her fingers on her quivering lips to keep from crying. "Oh, Jaime," she sighed. "That's just so wonderful."

Jaime gave her a nod and a smile. He sat back and looked directly at Luke again, his smile changing into a smirk that let Luke know there was nothing but evil inside of him.

0000000

After another half an hour of the group sessions—some boys speaking, others remaining silent—Theresa called for a prayer and asked the boys to kneel in a circle and hold hands. Luke knelt with the rest of the boys, and when Jaime got on one knee next to him and held out his hand for Luke to take, Luke felt a chill go up his spine. Jaime gave him a wink and licked his lips suggestively as Theresa closed her eyes and took the hands of the boys next to her.

Before Luke could reluctantly take Jaime's hand, Noah swooped in from the side and knelt next to Luke, nudging Jaime aside. Noah took Luke's hand in his and, for the first time since breakfast, he looked him straight in the eye.

With Noah's hand in his, Luke felt a warm buzz of electricity flowing through him, the same sensation he had felt when he first shook Noah's hand the day he arrived. He gave Noah a small smile and Noah smiled back, a sign of forgiveness between them that cause Luke's heart to jump into his throat. He felt like he could fly.

The boys closed their eyes and listened as Theresa began to pray. "Dear Jesus," she began, "thank you for allowing these wonderful young men to open their hearts and give themselves unto you . . ."

"Stay away from Jaime," Noah whispered suddenly in Luke's ear.

Noah's sweet, unexpected breath startled Luke as he kept his eyes closed, but only for a moment. He savored the feel of Noah's lips so close to his skin, then opened his eyes the minute his words sunk in. Noah looked at him and nodded.

"He's dangerous," Noah said.

Luke looked across the crowd of huddled boys to where Jamie had been cast off. He was clasping the hands of two other boys, nodding his head at Theresa's words as though just listening to them would give him salvation for whatever sins he had committed. That small, devious grin curled the ends of Jaime's lips as he peered at Luke, and Luke found himself squeezing Noah's hand for comfort. To his surprise, Noah squeezed back.

**To be continued**


	5. Contraband

The next day, the lazy June sun bleached the clear sky a blinding white. The soft shade of the pines did nothing to keep the heat off the backs of the campers as they waited in a circle in the patch of woods near the Serenity Lodge. The lake was to their left and shimmered as the summer warmth rose from the surface. Luke licked the salt from his upper lip and looked at the middle of the circle where the next boy went up to practice chopping wood.

Luke turned to Noah, who stood beside him, and whispered, "Now I _know_ these people are crazy."

The boy at the chopping block let out a half-felt grunt as he slammed the ax down on the chunk of wood left for him to cut. The counselors who stood near and around the line clapped for him and motioned for his fellow campers to show more support. A slight applause broke out as the boy went back in the circle and carried on until the next boy went up.

"What do they call this, anyway?" Luke asked.

"'Rediscovering gender identity,'" Noah whispered. "They're re-teaching us what we're supposed to know as straight men."

The next boy went up and lifted the ax as though it weighed the same as a truck. He swung it over his shoulder and the campers around him backed away in case the short, brown-haired boy lost his grip.

"This is ridiculous," Luke said, watching as the boy took a swing at the chopping block and missed. "You can be gay and know how to cut wood—I would know, I live on a farm."

"Try again, Anthony," said Randy, a counselor Luke recognized from when he first arrived for orientation.

The boy named Anthony held the ax as if it were a snake about to bite and shook his head. "No, I'll let someone else—"

"Can we show him some support, campers?" Randy called out.

A few of the boys standing around Luke clapped half-heartedly, but poor Anthony just looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and hide where the dozens of sets of eyes couldn't watch him.

"You shoulda been here last week," Ryan said as he stood behind Luke. "They had us hunt with BB guns."

Luke looked over his shoulder at Ryan. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Ryan nodded. "Got the bruises to prove it."

"Jesus," Luke sighed, watching as the small Anthony took a swing but missed.

Anthony was called back into the group and another boy took his place. Luke wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted up at the sun. He sighed deeply and looked over at Noah. "So what about you, Noah?" he asked. "A straight guy like you shouldn't have to be doing this kind of stuff. How did someone as normal as you get in here?"

Noah let out a laugh and crossed his arms over his chest. "You think I'm normal?" he asked.

Luke smiled and nodded. "Compared to rest of us, yeah."

Noah paused before answering. He looked out over the crowd of boys as if searching for the right words. "My dad didn't like the type of people I hung out with back home." He looked at Luke and raised his eyebrows. "They weren't a "good influence" on me, he said."

"Well, what type of people did you hang out with?" Luke asked.

Noah shrugged. "Mostly the theater kids in my high school. I like filmmaking and they liked talking about it with me."

Luke frowned. "That doesn't seem like enough to send you to a place like this."

Noah let out a laugh. "You obviously don't know my father," he said.

"Snyder, you're up!" Randy called as the next boy went back in the circle.

Luke rolled his eyes at Noah and Noah chuckled. The group of boys watched as Luke placed another piece of wood on the chopping block, wedged a chuck of steel through the crack to split it, and grabbed the ax with ease. Luke put the ax over his shoulder and quickly glanced at Noah, who was watching him with a small smile on his face.

Ryan noticed Noah watching and nudged his shoulder. "Hey," he said.

Noah tore his gaze away from Luke and looked at Ryan. Ryan motioned his eyes at Luke, raising a questioning brow at Noah.

"What?" Noah asked, a small, innocent grin on his lips.

"Something going on I should be aware of?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, you wish," Noah said, shaking his head. He gave Ryan a playful punch on the arm and Ryan held up a hand.

"Just asking, man," he said.

Noah looked at Luke again and beamed as he watched the man handle the ax. Something about his posture was different than the rest of the boys—confident and more assertive, as if he knew who he was and wasn't afraid to show it.

The image of Noah's smile gave Luke the boost of adrenaline he needed to swing the ax and thump it down on the splitter to cut the log of wood almost perfectly in two. The boys around him broke out in applause and light cheers, and when Luke looked over at Noah again, he was clapping with an impressed look on his face.

"Bents, you're next!" Randy called.

Luke's good feeling soured like spoiled fruit as Jaime made his way out of the crowd and into the middle where the chopping block was. Jaime gave Luke a smug grin and a nod. Luke handed him the ax, hardly amused, and Jaime pulled him closer as he grabbed the handle.

"I love a man who can work a tool," he whispered.

"Break it up!" Randy yelled.

Luke shoved the handle of the ax in Jaime's chest and pushed him away. "Dream on," he said, walking back towards the circle.

"Ooh," Jaime mumbled after him, "feisty."

Luke found his place in the crowd with Noah and Ryan, and crossed his arms as if to protect himself from Jaime's obscenities.

"Don't worry about him," Ryan said, motioning towards Jaime as he grabbed the ax. "He's all song and no dance."

Luke watched as Jaime swung the ax forcefully on the block with a loud, primal grunt, splitting the wood as smoothly and cleanly as though he were chopping meat instead of trees.

0000000

That day, during dinner, Luke sat with his bunkmates and exchanged stories from home over their plates of crunchy spaghetti.

"No way!" Ryan laughed, slapping the table. "No way that's true!"

"I'm dead serious!" Eli cried. "By the time he figured out what a _bris_ actually was, there was puke everywhere! The rabbi was horrified!"

"How can your stepdad not know what a _bris_ is?" Luke asked. "I mean, if you're going to the circumcision of your step-nephew, don't you think you'd do a little research on it first?"

Eli laughed and shook his head as he swirled his fork around his tray of spaghetti. "I don't know man, but I'll tell you one thing: if anything made my stepdad want me to convert to his religion, it was that _bris_."

The table laughed. Luke raised his plastic cup of water. "Here's to organized religion," he said, "and the crazy things it makes people do."

The table raised their glasses. "Cheers," they called.

"_L'chaim_," Eli said, tapping his glass to Luke's.

Luke turned to Noah as he sat next to him and smiled. "Cheers," he said.

Noah laughed and clinked their glasses together. "Cheers." They drank in honor of Luke's toast, both staring at each other for a beat longer than they both had intended.

The table grew silent again as the boy's ate. Luke looked over at Eli and noticed a small silver chair peeking out from behind his polo shirt. He nodded towards his bunkmate.

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

Eli looked at him and noticed Luke was staring at his chain. He placed his hand over his chest where the hidden charm laid and nodded. "Yeah," he said. He looked around the mess hall and sighed. "I miss my friends from temple. I miss my mom, too."

The group nodded in agreement. If it was one thing almost all of them shared, it was a longing for their family. Luke's eyes fell to his plate as a sharp, guilty feeling pierced his heart, the thought of his family back home giving him waves of pain that washed over his body.

"Here comes trouble," Ryan mumbled.

The group looked over Ryan's shoulder as Jaime approached them, swaggering towards the table as if he were the guest of honor. Jaime leaned in between Ryan and Eli and looked directly at Luke.

"Evening, ladies," Jaime said. "Having a good meal?"

"Yeah," Ryan said, pushing Jaime away with his shoulder, "good before _you_ came along."

Jaime laughed and whispered in Ryan's ear, "Did I disrupt your tea party, princess?"

"Why don't you just leave?" Eli asked, turning his head to stare down Jaime.

"Bents!" Ricky, cabin three's leader, called from the other end of the room as he surveyed the mess hall. "Back to your table, pronto!"

"In a second!" Jaime yelled back.

A wave of silence slowly trickled through the mess hall.

"Not 'in a second,' right now!" Ricky called, coming closer.

"Go back to the sewer you crawled out of," Eli said.

Jaime's eyes snapped right to Eli. He let out a laugh, then bent in closer to the curly-haired boy and said, "I'd watch what you say, if I were you, Eli. A camp like this ain't new to your ancestors—you might get thrown in the oven if they find out how much of a dirty Jew you really are—"

Before anyone at the table could flinch from Jaime's hurtful words, Eli was out of his seat and pummeling Jaime to the floor. The mess hall turned into a frenzy as campers stood from their tables to get a better look at the fight happening. Luke and Noah ran from their end of the table to where Eli and Jaime tussled, and Luke tried his best to pry his friend from the mad, swinging racist.

"Break it up!" Ricky called, rushing to the scene to get in between the boys.

Noah pushed Jaime away from Eli and Luke lost his grip on his friend's arm. Eli took his chance and swung at Jaime with full force, hitting the taller, stronger boy square on the nose. Jaime fell back and cupped his nose in his hands.

"Back off!" Ricky yelled, pushing Eli away from Jaime.

Jaime fell back in the arms of another counselor and pulled his hand away from his nose as it gushed blood. "You broke my nose, you fucking kike!" he yelled.

At Jaime's words, Eli lunged again, but this time Luke had a better grasp on him and Eli didn't get very far.

"Tell them what you said!" Eli screamed. "Tell them about the ovens they'll stuff me in, you piece of shit trailer trash!"

Suddenly, a loud whistle was blown and the mess hall came to a jarring halt. The campers looked towards the entrance of the cafeteria and saw a tall, blond counselor in the doorway with a silver whistle in his mouth.

"What's going on here?" the man called.

He walked closer to the scene and Jaime ripped himself away from the counselor who was holding him. He wiped the blood from his upper lip and sneered at the seething Eli.

"Pastor John," Ricky said to the man with the whistle.

"What happened?" the Pastor asked, looking calmly around the room.

"Jaime insulted Eli," Noah said.

"He was provoked," Luke said, carefully letting Eli go.

"We all saw it happen," Ryan chimed in, nodding. "Jaime set him off—"

Pastor John held up a hand to silence the boys, a calm, authoritative gesture that no one argued against. The young Pastor turned to Jaime and eyed his bleeding nose. "Take him to the infirmary," he said to Ricky. "Put him in the detention center when he's all cleaned up."

Ricky nodded. "Yes, Pastor John," he said. He took Jaime's arm and led him out the mess hall. Jaime made no sound, only looked back at Eli and his friends surrounding him with a stare that meant business had yet to be resolved.

Pastor John turned to the panting Eli and studied his face with his hands neatly folded behind his back. "Did you throw the first punch?" he asked. Eli looked at his shoes. Pastor John put his finger under Eli's chin and forced him to look into his eyes. "I asked you a question," he said. "Did you throw the first punch?"

Luke watched as Eli stared into the Pastor's eyes, all the rage from Jaime's words still bubbling inside of him like a hot tea kettle. "Yes," Eli said sharply.

Pastor John nodded and sighed. He turned to Luke. "Is it true Jaime said those things?" he asked him.

Luke nodded. "Every word. We heard him."

The Pastor pursed his lips as he looked at Luke, then nodded quickly. He turned his attention to Eli and opened his mouth to give the final word, when he spotted Eli's charm hanging out of his shirt.

"What's this?" he asked, holding the small, silver Star of David in his fingers.

Eli stiffened. "It's nothing," he said.

Pastor John raised his eyebrows. "Nothing?" he asked. He brushed his thumb over the sacred charm. "It looks like contraband to me."

Luke gaped. He couldn't believe that the Pastor, a man of God, could worry about such a thing as contraband when Eli's beliefs were being called into question. He watched as his friend's large eyes filled with tears.

"Please," Eli said. "It's my grandmother's. She survive Auschwitz, she gave it to me after she died—"

Before Eli could plead his case further, Pastor John grasped the charm in his hand and ripped the chain from around Eli's neck. Luke flinched as Eli let out a soft cry. He took a step forward.

"You can't do that!" Luke yelled.

Pastor John held up the necklace with an eerie sort of tranquility. "This is against the dress code," he said to Luke. "All personal items unrelated to a Christian nature are considered contraband."

"But—" Luke pleaded.

"It's only fair," Pastor John said. "We have to think of the other campers here, don't we?"

Luke stared at the man he had yet to properly meet. He was shocked by what he was seeing—that someone as good and genuine as Eli could be punished for standing up for himself and his beliefs.

Pastor John turned to Eli again. "You'll be spending the night in the detention center for inciting violence—"

"That's not fair!" Noah cried.

"And I would _hope_," the Pastor said loudly, "that you'll learn your lesson about treating your fellow man with a little more tolerance."

Luke let out a laugh at the man's hypocrisy. "Tolerance?" he cried. "You talk about _tolerance_—?"

"Counselors, disperse the campers back to their cabins!" Pastor John yelled. He looked at Eli. "Eli, follow me to the detention center."

The crowd began to meander out of the mess hall. Luke followed the Pastor and Eli. "You can't do this!" he shouted.

Pastor John turned suddenly, catching Luke off guard. He looked at him in a very cool, very collected sort of way as though the fight and everything after it was business as usual. "If you'd like to discuss this further," he said in a low tone, "you can bring it up in our one-on-one session tomorrow."

Luke watched the Pastor move away with Eli, his mouth open and his face frozen in shock.

"See you then, Luke," Pastor John said.

Luke watched as Eli walked away with the Pastor, and thought he saw a tiny, glistening tear roll off the boy's cheek.

**To be continued**


	6. Pastor John

That night after lights out, Luke looked over at Eli's empty bed and sighed. His other bunkmate's were either asleep or still falling asleep, all save for Noah. Luke kicked his covers off and put his arm under his head.

"It's not fair what they did to Eli," he whispered, looking up at the ceiling. "He's a good person."

Noah turned over in his cot to face Luke from across Eli's empty bunk. "It's not fair what they do to _any_ of us here," he said.

"Speak for yourself," Luke said, looking over at Noah. "At least you're considered 'normal' around here." He watched Noah's guilty eyes drop and rolled over to better see him. "I'm sorry," Luke said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you're right," Noah said. "Compared to everyone else, my stay here so far hasn't been so bad." He paused, studying Eli's empty bed, then looked at Luke. "In fact, if it wasn't for the counselors, I wouldn't mind being here."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "You _wouldn't_?" he asked.

Noah smiled half-heartedly, reveling in the sad, tragic truth of his life. "My dad's in the military—I've been an army brat my whole life. Being here . . . well, it's a lot like being on the base. Same rules, same routine—"

"Same wackos trying to beat the gay out of you with the Bible?" Luke asked.

Noah's smile grew wider, more genuine, and he looked at Luke from across the empty bed between them. "Only on Sundays," he said.

The boys burst into laughter. Luke rolled over onto his back and shook his head at the ceiling. Noah continued to chuckle as he looked over at Luke. Their laughter tapered off and Luke's smile faded. He pursed his lips and glanced at Eli's empty bed.

"I'm going to get his necklace back for him," he said.

"Yeah, and how are you gonna do that?" Noah asked, looking up at the ceiling.

Luke shrugged. "I'm going to see Pastor John tomorrow. Maybe if I talk to him—"

"There's _no_ talking to Pastor John," Noah said. "Believe me, he only wants to talk about how you're gay and how _he_ can fix it."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows, replaying Noah's words in his head. "But not with you, right?" he asked.

Noah looked at him. "What?"

Luke rolled over at face him. "I mean, you're straight, right?"

Noah gave him a look as if his question had the most obvious answer in the world. "Yeah," he said.

"Well, if you didn't talk about being gay," Luke said, "what _did_ you talk about?"

An aching pause filled the room. Noah let out a strained, force laugh and looked up at the ceiling. "Well . . ." he laughed again. "It's so stupid," he said. He looked at Luke as if his friend were waiting for the punch-line of a joke. Noah painfully cleared his throat. "He thinks . . . he thinks I might be gay."

Luke propped himself up on his elbow slightly and looked at Noah. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah, I mean—he thinks that just because I'm here I _have_ to be gay. Isn't that stupid?"

Luke lay back down and raised his eyebrows. "I guess so," he said. "It's not like being gay is contagious, you can't catch it—"

"Exactly!" Noah said. "And anyway, why would I choose to be gay when I'm perfectly happy the way I am?"

"Why would anyone _choose_ to be gay when we're being humiliated, harassed, and tortured like this?" Luke asked.

Another aching silence filled the room. Noah's self-gratifying smile faded when he saw the serious, steadfast look in Luke's eye. "I'm sorry," Noah said. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"It's fine, Noah," Luke turned over to face away from Noah, obviously annoyed by the man's words and not above showing him. "Goodnight," Luke said flatly.

Noah looked at Luke's back as he lay on his cot and wanted to force the words that had spilled out of his mouth back down his throat. He rolled onto his back and stared at the beams of the ceiling. "Goodnight," he whispered.

But sleep wouldn't come to Noah for long time that night.

0000000

The next morning after breakfast, Luke headed to the main lodge with the rest of his bunk for morning mass, when Andy stopped him at the door.

"Pastor John wants to see you now," he said.

"Right now?" Luke asked. "But our meeting isn't until—"

"Pastor's order, I'm just the messenger," Andy said.

Luke looked at his friends and they waved from the doorway of the lodge. "Take it easy, Snyder," Paul said.

"If the holy water starts flying," Ryan said as he stood by Paul, "don't let it hit your eyes."

Luke smiled. He looked over at Noah, who had been silent all morning, and waited for a piece of advice from him. When none came, and all Noah did was stared at his shoes, Luke nodded towards his friends and followed Andy down the path to the offices.

"So how does it work?" Luke asked. "Is he gonna grill me about—?"

Andy suddenly stopped Luke in his tracks and whispered, "I can get you Eli's necklace back," he said.

Luke's eyes widened as he looked at Andy. He glanced around to make sure a counselor wasn't nearby to hear them. "How?" he whispered back.

"Pastor John gave me the necklace to put in the storage rooms in the basement of the main lodge," Andy said quickly.

"Well, where is it?" Luke asked.

Andy sighed through his nose and looked at Luke. "First, you have to do something for me."

0000000

Luke rapped twice on the door to Pastor's John's office. He felt like he was in high school again, forced to face the principle for flunking a class he knew would be worthless in the long run.

"Come in," the Pastor called on the other end.

Luke entered slowly. Pastor John's office wasn't quite what he had imagined—true, there were the stereotypical books on his shelves that advertised the one, true path to salvation through Christ, and there was a crucifix hanging on his wall behind his desk—but other than that, Luke just as easily could have been standing in the office of a scatter-brained professor with an organizational problem.

"Hello, Luciano," Pastor John said as he smiled from his desk.

Luke flinched at the mention of his full name. He sat down in the stiff wooden chair at the Pastor's desk and crossed his hands in his lap. Pastor John turned in his swivel chair and opened the filing cabinet near his window. Luke watched him intently, surveying the drawers of the cabinet until he saw the tag he was looking for: past records.

Pastor John pulled a manila envelope from the bottom drawer and turned back to Luke. He placed the file on his desk and opened it up, that odd, satisfied grin stuck on the man's face. "Let's see," he said, flipping through Luke's file.

Luke remained silent and took notice of the small, silver cross that hung around the Pastor's neck on a tarnished chain. "Is my permanent record in that file, too?" Luke asked.

The Pastor looked up and chuckled. "No, just the important stuff." He took a piece of paper from Luke's file and looked it over. "It says here you're a good student at school . . . you played sports, you had friends—"

"I _have_ friends," Luke said correcting him.

Pastor John looked at him and nodded. "Of course," he said. He looked at the paperwork again. "It also says here that you've gotten in trouble with the law a few times."

"Water under the bridge," Luke said, waving him off.

Pastor John folded his hands on top of his desk and looked at Luke seriously. "Not to me it isn't, Luke. These facts about your life are very important if we want to get to the root of your problem—"

"My _problem_," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," the Pastor said, not skipping a beat. "You've had a very trying year from what I've read. And this whole business now with your mother—"

"Don't talk about her!" Luke snapped. He felt a rage growing inside of him, one that threatened to detract him from his mission.

Pastor John only smile, continuously patient with Luke's difficult behavior. "Luke, you're the one who agreed to come here, remember?"

"I didn't agree on—"

"Your father and Mr. Krieger came to the conclusion that after your mother's fall, this was the best place for you, and you agreed. Isn't that right?"

Luke crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his chair. "Well, yeah, but—"

"Luke, I'm not here to pass judgment on you," the Pastor said.

Luke scoffed and shook his head, taken aback by the man's hypocrisy.

"Whatever happened that day with your mother, I want to help you get to the root of it." Pastor John closed Luke's file and folded his hands neatly on his desk again. "You pushed your mother down the stairs, not because you were angry with her, but because you were angry with yourself—"

"Shut up," Luke said through clinched teeth. His rage blossomed into a flower of hatred, hatred which he directed at Pastor John.

"You were angry with yourself because you had just come to the realization that you are a homosexual," the Pastor went on, unscathed. "That realization scared you, and the idea that your mother wanted to save you from your choice of lifestyle scared you even more."

"I said shut up!" Luke cried.

"You knew that what you were feeling was wrong—that these feelings, these urges, were not natural."

"Is this what you do?" Luke asked, regaining whatever cool he had left to get a word in. "You bring the other campers in here to try and break down their defenses with all this psycho-babble to get them to admit they're unnatural?"

Pastor John sat back in his chair. He smiled.

"How many years of college did you go through to get your psychology degree, Pastor?" Luke asked. "Or better yet, how many years of Krieger's de-gaying program did you go through to get where you are?"

Pastor John made no quick reply to defend himself. He didn't yell at Luke to try and put him in place, nor did he order Luke out for speaking in such a way. He simply sighed, took a ballpoint pen from his desk, and clicked it open.

"I can see you're going to be difficult, Luke." The Pastor opened Luke's file again and made a note.

Luke closed his eyes and shook his head, shedding off all the talk the Pastor made to try and weaken him. He focused his attention on the filing cabinet, instead.

"Tell me, Luke," Pastor John said after a beat. "Are you a virgin?"

Luke nearly did a double take at the man behind the desk. He leaned in, hoping he had misheard. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Are you a virgin?" the Pastor asked again calmly. "Have you ever been with a man or woman?"

Luke sat back in his chair, unaware of where this new head game was going. "No," he said. "I've never been with anyone."

The Pastor made another note in Luke's file. Luke felt embarrassed and didn't know why. Pastor John set the pen on his desk and looked at Luke. "So you've never been with a person of either sex?" he asked.

"No!" Luke said, getting annoyed to the point where he wanted to reach across and slap the Pastor, never mind that the man was a follower of God. "Jesus, what is this?" Luke asked.

"You're only seventeen, Luke," Pastor John said. "There's still so much of life you haven't been exposed to."

Luke crossed his arms over his chest again and shrugged. "So?" he asked.

"So," the Pastor said, leaning closer on his desk. "If you've never been with a woman, how do you know you don't like it?"

A small smile flickered on the corner of Luke's mouth. He leaned in closer to the desk, the same way the Pastor had, and said in an equally as hushed tone, "Do you like worms, Pastor John?"

The condescending smile on the Pastor's face faded. "No," he said. "Of course not."

"How do you know if you've never tried them?" Luke asked.

"That's not the same thing, Luke—"

Luke sat back in his seat and examined his nails in a very cool, collected sort of way. "I don't know, Pastor," he said. "Plenty of people in this world eat worms. "I hear it's a delicacy in Bangladesh—"

"You're missing the point, Luke!" Pastor John yelled. For the first time during their meeting, Luke was seeing an increasingly frustrated side of the Pastor. He liked it.

A sudden knock came at the door and Pastor John nearly jumped. "Yes?" he called.

Luke turned in his seat and watched as Andy slowly opened the door and poked his head in. "Pastor John?" he asked.

"What is it, Andrew?" the Pastor asked. "I'm in the middle of a one-on-one session."

"I'm sorry," Andy said. He glanced at Luke quickly, then jutted his thumb over his shoulder. "It just that Ricky—I mean, Mr. Lewis—was going up to the pulpit to read for mass and he started taking off his clothes."

Pastor John stood from his desk. "_What_?!" he cried.

Luke stared wide-eyed at Andy.

Andy held out a hand to try and convince that Pastor it wasn't a big deal. "Don't worry, he didn't get that far. Some kind of rash broke out on his body. Theresa—I mean, Ms. James—she escorted him off the pulpit before he had a chance to take his pants off."

Luke slapped a hand over his mouth and snorted. He looked over at the Pastor, who was hardly amused with the news.

"I'll take care of this," Pastor John said, rushing out of his office. "Please take Mr. Snyder back to his cabin," he said while leaving.

Andy waited until the Pastor was down the hall and out of the building, then he turned to Luke. "Okay, c'mon," he said.

Luke sprung into action. He stood from his chair and went to the filing cabinet. He opened the drawer marked 'past records' and began flipping through names and dates.

"What was the name again?" he asked.

"Schweizer," Andy said, looking down the hall from the doorway. "Hurry up," he said.

Luke flipped through the S's and finally found the name, Ian Schweizer, in the March 2006 folder. "Got it," he said. He took the file from the drawer and slammed it shut, standing quickly to meet Andy.

"Let's go, let's go," Andy said, motioning for him to follow.

Luke put the folder under his shirt and followed Andy down the hall. They took a left and passed a hallway of more offices until coming to a door on the end labeled 'copy room.' Luke followed Andy through it the boys entered unseen.

Andy flipped the light switch on the wall and turned to Luke. "Gimme the folder," he said, holding out his hand.

Luke handed him the folder and looked around the musty, cramped room. A copy machine stood on the far end across the door, as well as a red, old-fashioned telephone from the sixties or seventies on the wall. Andy set the folder on the copier and began flipping through it. Luke opened the door to the room a crack and peered out to see if anyone is coming.

"What are you looking for?" he asked Andy.

"Shh!" Andy cried, as if Luke's voice would make it impossible for him to find what he was searching for in the manila file. He came to a page and paused on it. "Bingo," he said. Andy took the paper and turned to the red phone. He pressed the document to the wall and read off a number as he dialed it into the phone.

"Can't they trace that?" Luke asked.

"This phone isn't connected to the main line," Andy said. "They forgot to disconnect it after renovations."

Andy pressed the last number into the dial pad and pressed the phone to his ear. He waited eagerly, as though he were banking on the results of some kind of aptitude test while the phone rang. Luke looked out the crack in the door again and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a counselor walk towards them. He closed the door quickly and silently and turned to Andy.

"You better make this quick," he said.

But Andy wasn't listening to Luke. He danced in place as the phone rang, whispering a silent prayer to himself until—

"Ian!" Andy cried into the phone.

"Shh!" Luke hissed, putting a finger to his lips.

But Andy was beyond being careful the minute Ian answered the phone. Luke looked over and saw Andy's eyes filling with tears. "It's me!" Andy said into the phone, a small laugh escaping his choked throat. He nodded as the person spoke on the other end. "I know, I know!" Andy said, smiling through his tears. "I've been trying to find you all this time, they wouldn't tell me—" Andy paused as the person spoke again on the other end.

Luke opened the door again, his heart doing jumping jacks in his throat. The counselor coming towards them turned the corner and disappeared from Luke's line of sight.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine!" Andy said into the phone. "Oh, God, it's so good to hear your voice!"

"Andy, hurry!" Luke whispered.

"What?" Andy called into the receiver. He put a hand over his other ear to block out the rest of the room. "What the hell are you doing in Chicago?"

Luke was about to yell at Andy again for talking so loud, for taking up so much precious time, but seeing the happy, helpless look on his friend's face prevented him from doing anything else but watch.

"I know," Andy said on the phone. "I've missed you, too." He sniffled and wiped a stray tear from under his eye. "It's okay," he said, tears straining his voice. "I'll find you, don't worry. I'll get out of here and I'll find you, I promise!"

"Andy!" Luke called.

Andy finally looked over at Luke and remembered the dire situation they were in. "I have to go now, it's not safe for me to talk." A pause followed, then a burst of joyous laughter from Andy. "I love you, too," he said. "You'll wait for me, right?"

Luke watched their conversation and could only guess that the person on the other end of the line was just as incandescently happy as Andy. He felt a surge of sympathy for Andy, then a pinprick of hope as he saw how the man had gone to so much trouble to contact this one person. If Andy could survive it all, if he could be at this camp every summer since he was fifteen and still hold on to a love that didn't know the words 'gay 'or 'straight,' then maybe there was hope for Luke, as well.

"I know," Andy said into the phone. "I love you. I promise I'll come." He glanced at Luke, giving him a look of utmost gratitude for helping him. "Okay," Andy said into the receiver. "Bye."

He hung up the phone slowly, and with his back turned to Luke, he pressed his head to the wall. Luke waited for him to gather himself, to soak in the feeling of hearing the voice of someone he presumably loved. Andy sniffled one last time and turned around. He wiped his red, puffy eyes and smiled at Luke.

"Thank you," he said.

Luke couldn't help but give him a small grin and nodded. "You're welcome."

Andy moved closer to him and reached in his pants pocket. He held up a silver chain, and Eli's Star of David dangled in front of Luke's eyes like a pendulum of hope.

**To be continued**


	7. Friends

"It was a beautiful operation," Ryan said as he sat crossed-legged on his cot. "Close your eyes and picture it."

Luke smiled from his own bed and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Let's hear it."

It was after lunch and the boys were in their cabin for their hour of mandatory Bible study. Luke had kept Eli's necklace hidden safely in the pocket of his khakis for the rest of the day. Eli was scheduled to be back from the detention center by three, and the boys eagerly awaited him to see the look on his face when he had the necklace back in his own hands.

"So Paul heard his old man talking to Ricky by the lake a few weeks ago," Ryan said, illustrating the story with his hands. "And as these chums are talkin', Paul overhears Ricky say that he's allergic to peanuts—"

"I can see where this is going," Luke said, grinning with his eyes still closed.

"So Paul starts collecting peanuts from his meals the next few days," Ryan said.

"No easy feat," Paul chimed in from his own bed.

"And it just so happened that today before breakfast, Andy asked us to create a diversion during morning mass," Ryan said.

Luke snapped his eyes open and looked across the room at Ryan. "I knew you guys had something to do with it!" he laughed. "How'd you get the peanuts into his food?"

Ryan slowly looked over at Noah. He pointed to him. "Actually, it was all Noah's doing."

Luke looked over at Noah, whose head was bent low. The man smiled slightly when he looked up at Luke. "I took a chance," he said. "When I said I was going to the bathroom, I actually stopped by Ricky's table as he was eating with a few other counselors. Turns out, he was in the military, and we started talking about life on the base. I slipped Paul's crushed peanuts into his oatmeal—"

"And the rest is history," Ryan said, making a slicing motion through the air with his hand.

Luke smiled widely at the men in his cabin and let out a laugh. He shook his head. "I can't believe you guys did this," he said.

"We wish you coulda been there to see Ricky do his unintentional little striptease at the pulpit," Paul said, laughing. "It'll take years of prayer for God to forgive that one."

"Is he going to be okay?" Luke asked.

Ryan waved him off. "He'll be fine," he said. "Nothing an EpiPen and some holy water can't fix."

The cabin of boys laughed at Ryan's joke, all save for Charles, who had been silent the entire time, reading from a passage in the Bible on his bed like a good little boy. He glanced occasionally over at Luke and Noah, his eyes shifting between them as though they were on the dance floor together and he was stuck in the sidelines.

"What _kills_ me," Ryan said, sitting back in his bed, "is that our sweet little Noah over there was in on our plan from the start."

"Yeah," Paul said. "You gave us all a shock on that one, Mayer."

Noah lowered his head again, that playful smile illuminating his face. "What can I say?" he said. He slowly looked up at Luke. "I guess a part of me was just made to get into trouble."

Luke looked at Noah and beamed. He felt his heart fluttering in his chest, light as a bird's wings, he felt a rush of warmth flood his body and trap itself in the pit of his stomach. At that moment, all Luke could think of doing was grabbing Noah's head in his hands and laying a kiss right on his lips.

"God, would you _listen_ to yourselves?" Charles yelled, snapping the Bible shut and sitting up on his bed. He looked around the room as though he were the only sane one there. "You think you're all partners in crime or something!"

"Relax, Chuck," Ryan said. "We got Eli his necklace back, that's all that matters."

"So what?" Charles barked. "Sooner or later, Pastor John's gonna put the pieces together and he's gonna can all our asses!"

"No one's stopping you from ratting on us," Luke said, giving Charles a daring look.

Charles stood from his bed. "Don't even tempt me, Snyder—"

"Hey!" Noah said, standing and turning to face Charles. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We did it to help Eli," Noah said. "If it were me, you'd do the same thing."

Luke watched as Charles melted at Noah's words, his touch, his soft tone. Charles nodded slowly and avoided Noah's eyes. Luke thought for a moment that he could see the man blushing.

"Yeah, you're right," Charles said. He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Heads up, guys!" Ryan said as he peered out the window. "Eli's on his way."

The boys quickly abandoned their Bibles and stood at the head of their cots. Luke touched his pocket to make sure Eli's necklace hadn't leaped out of place, and glanced around the room at the anxious, smiling young men. He caught Noah's eye and nodded his head towards him, a sign of forgiveness from last night. Noah gave him a half grin and looked towards the entrance of the cabin as Eli walked in.

Eli stopped in the doorway and looked around at the expecting faces. He seemed different than the boy they had eaten their meals with—quieter, more reserved, as if one of the counselors had given his soul a lobotomy. Eli let out a nervous laugh and looked once more around the room.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We have something for you," Ryan said. He motioned towards Eli's cot and told him to sit down.

Eli did as he was instructed and sat at the head of his bed. His bunkmates crowded around him, Luke at the forefront. They were all smiles.

"Close your eyes," Luke said.

Eli looked up at the giddy faces around him and held up his hands. "Look, I know you guys are gay and all, and I respect that, but I've told you a thousand times—I like girls."

"Just close your eyes," Luke said, rolling his eyes.

Eli hesitantly did as Luke told him and waited. Luke pulled the chain from his pocket and held it in front of Eli's face, the Star of David dangling before him like an ethereal moment from G-d, Himself.

Sensing something in front of him, Eli opened his eyes and looked at the chain in Luke's hand. His mouth opened slightly and he let out a sort of half-laugh, half-sob. He eyed the necklace up and down to make sure it was real, then took it from Luke's hand and cupped it in his palm. Eli looked up at his fellow campers as they crowded around him, tears of overwhelming happiness filling his eyes.

"How did you—?"

"It was Luke's idea," Noah said.

Luke looked at him and smiled. "No," he said, shaking his head. "We all helped." The two exchanged lingering smiles before focusing their attention on the humbled Eli.

"You shouldn't have done this," Eli said, tracing his fingers along the points of the scared star.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of reflection within the group as they all thought of _why_ they had helped Eli in the first place, why they had stuck their own necks out for someone who wasn't even considered "one of them" by gay standards. But the reality was right there in front of them, hardly worth trying to analyze.

"Hey," Ryan said, giving Eli a tap on the shoulder and a grin. "We're all in this together. We gotta look out for you, same as you gotta look out for us."

Eli pressed his quivering lips in a thin line and nodded. He lowered his head and sniffled, then looked up and smiled at his friends. "Thank you," he said. He put his hand over his heart. "Thank you so much."

0000000

That night at dinner, Luke watched as his friends laughed and joked with each other. Eli's spirits seemed to have lifted considerably after getting his necklace back (even though he had to hide it under his pillow than wear it), and the mood was light and more cheerful than Luke had ever seen since he arrived at the camp. He ate his food silently and smiled at the good nature of his new friends.

Noah nudged Luke as he sat beside him. "Hey," he whispered, noticing Luke's quietness. "That was a really nice thing you did for Eli."

Luke looked at him and smiled. He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal and tried his hardest to keep from blushing. "It was a team effort," he said, motioning his head towards his other bunkmates as they talked amongst themselves.

Luke looked at Noah, studying his face. There was something Noah's eyes, a spark of something in him that made Luke question why Noah would often look at him like that. He seemed to be doing it more often than not, but Luke had always shrugged it off as it being part of Noah's good nature. Still . . . he didn't look at the other campers that way.

Realizing he may have been holding his gaze a bit too long, Luke blinked and concentrated on his food. He glanced over at Charles on the other side of the table, and saw he was staring at him with an intensity that was almost frightening. Whatever spark of warmth Noah had given Luke with his eyes, Charles' look was the exact opposite—cold, judgmental, and altogether filled with hatred.

"Luke, tell us again," Ryan said.

Luke tore his eyes away from Charles and looked at his friend directly across from him. "Huh?" he asked.

"C'mon, c'mon," Ryan said, waving Luke towards him. "Tells us again what you said to Pastor John, the thing about the worms."

Luke smiled and faked a groan. "I'm tired of telling that one—"

"Aw, come on!" Eli cried.

"Yeah, be a sport!" Paul said, flicking a pea at Luke with his fork.

Luke laughed and shook his head. He probed at his food again, expecting his bunkmates to goad him on further, when the mood shifted suddenly.

"Well look who it is," Ryan said, staring out across the mess hall.

Luke turned his head to where Ryan and the rest of his cabin was looking, and saw Jamie slowly snaking around the tables, collecting trays.

"What's _he_ doing out?" Noah asked, watching the man.

"They put him on clean-up duty for the rest of the month," Eli said. "I wasn't in the same room as him, but they say he was a real pain in the ass in the detention center."

Luke looked over at Eli, and his friend gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," Eli said. "He can't come within thirty feet of me. And as long as I'm around you guys, he can't touch us."

"Damn," Ryan said under his breath. "And I was _so_ hoping he'd ask me to the summer ball."

The table erupted in giggles and hushed laughter as a counselor walked by their table. When he rounded the corner and surveyed another table, Ryan leaned in close to Luke.

"So come on, Snyder," he whispered. "Tell us the part about the worms!"

0000000

After dinner, Luke followed his bunkmates, as well as the other cabins in the west end, to the main lodge where a movie projector had been set up in the chapel. Luke sat with his cabin in a designated area near the back, just close enough to see the large screen they had put up, and far away enough to see the heads of almost all the other boys in the camp.

"What's this?" he whispered to Ryan, who sat next to him on his right.

"Movie night," Ryan whispered back. "Every Friday night, they show an anti-gay film to scare us into being straight."

"Problem is," Eli said on Luke's direct left, "these movies are so old and out-dated, no one buys into their meaning."

Luke chuckled and a hush came over the crowd as the lights were dimmed and the projector roared to life. The legend 'Boys Beware' appeared on the shaky, black and white film, and a collective groan came over the crowd. It was a propaganda film from the 50's, similar to education films that warned of the dangers of Communism and friendly relations with the Japanese shown in so many classrooms of the time period.

Luke sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched in silence for a few minutes, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the film.

"'_It looks innocent enough, doesn't it?_'" the cheesy narrator said in the film as the camera passed by a group of young boys with their thumbs stuck out near the road. "'_Lots of young people hitchhike—seems like a good way to get from one place to another_.'"

"Were people really this stupid back then?" Luke asked, leaning closer to Eli.

"It seems they're just as stupid today," Eli whispered back.

A few men down the row, Noah watched the film with bored, glazed-over eyes. He sighed at the production value of the shabby film, its use of light and camera angles, its jarring voice-over and saccharine montage music. Were he doing an anti-gay propaganda film, God forbid, he would at least have the decency to plot the film at a reasonable pace.

"Pretty bad, huh?" Charles whispered to Noah as he sat next to him.

Noah shook his head. "The close-ups alone are giving me an aneurism."

Charles chuckled at his friend's comment. He watched as Noah stared at the screen, how his soft blue eyes followed the motions of the actors, how his strong jaw clenched in unbearably cheesy parts. Charles found himself smiling. He closed his eyes briefly and pretended he wasn't at camp but back at home, in his own backwoods town at his own movie theater. He pretended this was a avant-garde film Noah had picked out, and they were watching it together, just the two of them, with no eyes watching or judging them . . .

Noah felt a hand on his and tore his eyes away from the screen. He looked down and saw Charles' fingers brushing the back of his hand. Noah pulled away quickly and nearly jumped from his seat.

"What're you doing?" he cried, louder than he would have liked.

Charles put his hand in his lap. "Sorry," he said, not looking away from Noah.

"I could report you for that," Noah said in a hushed voice.

Whatever good feeling Charles had was now gone, slapped away by the harsh words of the man he had grown to love in such a short time, a man he knew would never come around until . . . until . . .

"I don't get you, man!" Charles cried. He looked around as a few campers glanced his way and lowered his voice. "You say you're straight, but then you act all lovey-dovey around Snyder like he's—"

"_What_?" Noah cried, staring at Charles in disbelief.

"You heard me!" Charles whispered harshly. "I've been listening to your little late-night chats when you think everyone is sleeping—I've seen the way you look at each other—"

"Luke is my _friend_!" Noah said below his breath. "Nothing more! You know I'm straight—"

"Stop kidding yourself, Noah!" Charles hissed back. "The second he arrived, a light blinked on inside of you, and you know it."

"That's not—!"

Charles didn't give Noah a chance to explain himself. He raised his hand and looked towards a nearby counselor. "Bathroom?" he called.

The counselor nodded and Charles made his way out of the row, using every fiber of his being to not look back at Noah. Noah slumped in his seat and stared at the projector screen. He looked down the row as Luke sat with Ryan and Eli, and used every fiber of his being to will Luke to look at him.

Once in the bathroom, Charles splashed cold water on his face from the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. How could he have been so stupid? And what was so damn special about that Snyder kid that Noah got all googly-eyed at him with the snap of a finger? Even worse—had they talked about him behind his back during their late-night chats? Had he fallen asleep too soon to hear the sordid truth about everything he had suspected?

"You looked like a man who just got a wake-up call."

Charles whipped around at the sound of the voice and saw Jamie standing in the doorway of one of the stalls, a mop in one hand and a bucket of cleaner by his feet. He was smiling in that maniacal, plotting way he seemed to have mastered over the years. Whatever they did to try and calm him down in the detention center, it obviously didn't work.

"What do you want?" Charles asked.

Jamie laughed. "Same thing you do," he said. "Revenge."

Charles took a step back and raised his head higher, sensing a moment of opportunity. "Eli?" he said.

Jamie nodded. "That punk got me cleaning puke for the rest of the damn month," he said, nearly spitting venom with his words. Jamie smiled again and took a step towards Charles. "I'm guessing you got let down by your little crush, huh?"

Charles looked to the side, anguished by Jamie's words. He found himself nodding slightly.

Jamie struck the mop head on the tiles and held the hand in front of his face. "Maybe we can help each other," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Charles looked at him. He gripped the sink behind his back as if it contained the last bit of decency he had, then nodded towards Jamie when he thought about the look Noah gave him when he tried to touch his hand—startled, disgusted, hardly the same enamored look he often gave Luke.

"If you want to get back at Eli," he said. "You have to go through Luke."

Jamie's already twisted, demented smile grew even larger, casting dark shadows on his otherwise handsome face. "That's what I was hoping you'd say," he said.

**To be continued**


	8. Suture

The next day, Saturday, Luke sat in his group session in the basement of the Serenity Lodge. Theresa had a pen and clipboard in her lap, as did the other boys in the group. She smiled at them.

"This exercise today is very easy," she said. "I want you to make a list of all the possible root causes of your homosexual urges."

Charles raised his hand as he sat next to Jamie across the circle from Luke. "Can you explain it a little more?" he asked.

Theresa sat up in her chair, intrigued that at least one of the boys showed some enthusiasm. "Basically," she said, "you write down a list of key events in your life that may have led to your decision to be . . . to have . . . to be, uh—"

"Gay?" Luke finished.

Theresa smiled and pointed at him, seemingly unable to even say the word. "Yes, thank you, Luke." She cleared her throat. "It can be anything—maybe your father was absent for a period of time in your life, maybe your mother gave you too much attention as a child—"

"What about Noah?" Charles asked, raising his hand again.

Luke glanced over at Noah as they sat together. Noah was looking at Charles questioningly, eagerly waiting for him to go on.

"What do you mean?" Theresa asked.

"Well, he's straight, right?" Charles asked. He looked over at Noah. "He shouldn't have to do this exercise if he isn't gay."

Luke looked at Theresa as she pondered this thought. She pressed her pen to her lips. "Well, I suppose he can do it, anyway. Maybe hearing what the other boys have to say will give him further clues on the roots of homosexuality."

Luke gave Noah a look that asked if Theresa was for real, and Noah chuckled. Theresa clapped her hands and told her group to begin. Noah scribbled on his paper and glanced up at the other boys with their heads bent over their pen and paper. He looked over at Luke and, to his surprise, saw him writing leisurely as if the exercise were a school project instead of a twisted game at a backwards Christian camp.

After about five minutes, Theresa looked up from her clipboard called the time. The boys around Noah stopped writing instantly, all save for Luke who was scrambling to finish whatever he had been writing down.

"Who wants to begin?" Theresa asked, looking around the room.

The other campers remained silent, looking in different directions as if eyeing the counselor meant they were the ones that had to go first.

"I guess I'll go," Jamie said, raising his hand.

"Jamie," Theresa said with a smile. "You continue to surprise me. What have you got?"

Jamie threw his clipboard on the floor beside his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. "When I was young," he began, "my dad would drink a lot. He never had a stable job as long as I could remember—always doing odds and ends around town for booze and a couple of bucks."

Luke stopped writing and slowly looked up at Jamie as he spoke.

"My mom worked double shifts as a waitress most of the time," Jamie continued. "She was never around very much, so I did all the cooking and cleaning around the house."

"And that when you decided you were a homosexual?" Theresa asked.

Jamie shot a look at her. "I was _ten_," he said. "I didn't even know what that word meant, for Christ's sake."

Luke looked over at Noah, who was watching Jamie intently, and went back to writing.

"Anyway," Jamie said, "my dad got home late one night and saw me ironing my mother's work uniform and he . . ." Jamie paused, looking off into the distance as if watching the memory come to life right before his eyes. He blinked, then shook his head and smiled condescendingly at Theresa. "He called me a fag and beat me within an inch of my life."

The room was silent. Luke had stopped writing again and looked up at Jamie with sympathy pouring from his eyes. All this time . . . all this pretense about being a tough guy and no one seemed to know the truth until now. A flicker of pain crossed over Jamie's face, there for only a split second until it dissolved into a look of contempt for the young, pretty counselor.

"Who's next?" Jamie asked.

Silence once again. Luke and Noah exchanged looks of compassion for Jamie's story. Charles saw them ogling each other again, and despite Jamie's wall-breaking confession, he felt a new surge of jealousy and anger build inside of him.

"I think Luke should read," he said.

Luke looked at him and held his clipboard close to his chest. He shook his head at Theresa. "No," he said.

"You _were_ writing a lot, Luke," Theresa said. "And you still haven't contributed to the discussion."

Luke looked around the room in a panic. "Please, I'd rather not—"

"This could be very good for you, Luke," Theresa said. She held out her hand, beckoning to have Luke's writing.

Luke clutched it closer to his chest. "No," he said.

Theresa lowered her hand and sighed, exasperated. "Well, if you won't someone else will."

"_I'll_ read it," Charles said, standing and walking over to Luke.

"Mind your own business!" Luke said, backing away as Charles made a grab for the clipboard.

"Charles, leave him alone!" Noah cried.

"Boys, calm down!" Theresa said, holding her arm out.

Charles managed to snatch the clipboard from Luke's hands. Luke stood to make a reach for it, when Charles held it away and began to read.

"_Starlight pierces the skies_," Charles read with a laugh.

"Stop it!" Luke cried, lunging at him again.

Charles hopped backwards and continued to read. Feeling defeated, Luke sat in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

"_Evergreen claws scratch the night_," Charles continued, standing in the middle of the circle like a beat poet with a hot line of lyrics. His eyes wandered along the words of the page and his smug smile faded as he read Luke's poem. "_Tiny holes of white heaven, stabbing the barked hands of oppression."_

Luke chanced a look around the room, feeling utterly mortified by his own writing, and terrified of what would happen to him when the poem was finished. He wanted to melt into nothing, he wanted to curl up into himself and disappear.

"_A burst of light in the darkness_," Charles read on, "_a patch of day in the night_,"

Luke slowly looked over at Noah, and he was listening intently.

"_Eyes of a fallen angel, two pools of blue sky illuminating the fear, casting it back into the shadows."_ Charles paused and looked at Luke, staring at him in a way Luke couldn't decipher. Maybe it was awe, maybe it was surprise, but whatever it was, Luke hadn't expected it. "_A Shepard of goodness_," Charles read, "_Taming the floods that threaten to drown the children of God—sinners the day they breathed love_." Charles paused again, the last line of the poem causing him to choke up in a hurtful way. "_The boy with the sky in his eyes, catching fallen starlight_."

Charles lowered the clipboard and stood in the middle of the group for a moment. The room was silent, even Theresa had nothing to say. Luke look around the circle and saw his campmates were at a loss of words. Noah, especially, seemed to be deep in thought.

Charles handed Luke back his clipboard and Luke stood and threw it on his chair. He rushed out of the room in a blur, shaking from head to toe in fear and embarrassment. He walked down the hall and turned a corner where a bathroom stood in a dark nook. He entered and slammed the door of the single-stalled bathroom shut. Luke leaned against the sink and studied his reflection.

"Stupid," he said to himself. "I'm so _stupid_!" He sighed and leaned against the wall, wishing he hadn't written the poem in the first place, wishing he was anywhere else.

After what seemed like hours in the bathroom by himself, Luke heard a knock on the door. "Who is it?" he called, going to the door.

"It's me," Noah said on the other side.

Luke opened the door a crack and peered out at Noah. He could barely look at him in the eye, the pain of his embarrassment stabbing his gut like a thousand cold pins.

Noah stared at Luke for a moment. In that second, both men knew the truth about the poem, both knew what the other was thinking—that Luke's poem was about Noah, and Noah had known it from the start.

"Uh," Noah said, clearing his throat. "The group's leaving."

Luke stared at the floor and nodded his head. "Okay," he said. "I'll be there in a minute."

Noah returned the nod and offered him a small smile. "Hey," he said, "It's okay, you don't have to—"

"Can you just give me a second, please?" Luke asked, more forcefully than he would have liked.

Noah's smile faded and he nodded again slowly. "Sure," he said.

He turned away, and Luke instantly felt guilty as he watched Noah leave. He leaned against the door and hit his head on the frame. "What is the _matter_ with you?" he asked himself, rolling his eyes. He shook his head and sighed deeply.

"Noah, wait," Luke called out, exiting the bathroom.

Just as he got a step or two down the dark hallway, however, a hand grabbed Luke and pulled him into the nearby utility closet. Luke barely had time to react, could barely even yell out or comprehend what was going on. All he knew in that split second was that he had been jerked into a musty-smelling room with no light by a forceful hand, his heart leaping into his throat.

The hand threw him against the wall and Luke felt himself falling, stumbling to the floor, but not before a sharp object fell on his head and caused a searing gash of white pain just above his right eye.

Luke held his hand where he was injured and blindly looked around the pitch-black room. He heard the door close and the light suddenly switched on, illuminating the room in a dusty, heavy yellow glow. It looked like the janitor closet from Luke's high school. The hand that had pulled him in grabbed Luke by his collar and forced him on his feet. Luke swung around and saw Jamie standing before him.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, the panic rising in his throat.

Jamie pushed Luke up against the wall and held him by his throat. "Don't scream," Jamie said. "You'll make it worse."

Luke blinked as a drop of blood fell in front of his eye. The cut on his face throbbed in pain, but not nearly as intense as the throbbing of his terrified heart. "That story you told," he said, completely unaware of what he was trying to convey. "You told that story about your father and—"

"Yeah, and you expected me to let my guard down and turn into a good little boy, right?" Jamie asked, struggling to keep the squirming Luke on his feet. "Sorry, babe, but you've had this coming for a while."

Luke sucked in a breath, feeling as though a tight rubber band were constricting around his chest. This wasn't happening, this _couldn't_ be happening. Things like this didn't happen, not in real life—

"You don't have to do this," Luke said. He wanted to push Jamie away, to send him flying across the room with his fist, but terror rooted him to his spot.

Jamie smiled slowly. "Are you kidding, Snyder?" he said. "I've been waiting for this the day you arrived."

"Please!" Luke cried as Jamie threw him on the floor.

"It'll be a lot easier if you just let it happen," Jamie said, reaching for the button of his khakis.

Luke groped blindly around as he looked up at the tall, intimidating Jamie. He felt the handle of a broom and took a chance with it, springing to his feet as fast as his dizzy head would allow. In his clamor, the handle of the broom knocked the naked light bulb overhead and darkness enveloped the room again.

There was a shuffling of feet as Jamie took a swing at Luke and hit him somewhere on his face. A few cries of pain, a crash of falling objects the boys slammed up against. The door, where was the door? Everywhere Luke turned, Jamie seemed to be there, like a snake coiling around a helpless mouse in a cardboard box. Somewhere along the way, Luke dropped the broom and was knocked backwards again. He felt Jamie climb on top of him, felt him pin his hands to the cold cement floor and hover his face close to Luke's.

"I'm sorry you can't enjoy it," Jamie whispered in Luke's ear.

Suddenly, the door to the closet swung open and the light from the hallway finally highlighted Luke and Jamie's tussle.

"Oh my God!" Theresa cried, putting a hand over her mouth as she witnessed the scene.

Luke looked towards the open doorway and saw the circle of boys from the group session all standing behind Theresa, stunned looks on their faces. Luke saw out of the corner of his eye as Noah surged through the crowd.

Jamie quickly climbed off of Luke as he noticed Noah coming towards him, but it was too late for him to run. Noah grabbed hi by the throat and pushed him against the wall as Jamie had done to Luke not a moment ago.

"Luke, get out of here!" he yelled.

"I—"

"Go!" Noah screamed.

Luke crawled out of the closet and Theresa helped him to his feet. "Noah, let him go!" Theresa said.

"You want to mess with someone?" Noah said through gritted teeth at Jamie. "Mess with me."

Jamie smiled. "You're not my type," he said.

Theresa let out a cry of surprise as Noah swung at Jamie and socked him right across the face. Jamie fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Noah turned to the doorway and said to Theresa, "Go get help."

She nodded quickly and the boys took Luke from her arms. Luke turned, fearful that Jamie would revive himself and start something with Noah. Noah looked at him, his face changing from pure rage to unbearable worry. "Did he—?"

"No," Luke said quickly. "No, he didn't."

Noah gave him a nod, and Luke was whisked away to the nurse's station as Noah stood guard over Jamie until a few other counselors came. All the while they waited, Jamie looked up at Noah, exhausted from his brawl with Luke, waiting for Noah to kick him while he was down. But Noah only stood over him, fists clenched and face as still as stone.

"So this is it for me, eh?" he said, breathing heavily as if the fight had knocked the soul from his bones. "After all the shit I've done, after all the camps I've been to this, is the last straw for me." He let out a laugh and shook his head. "I'm a bad guy, Noah. I'm not broken, 'cause there's nothing that was ever right about me to begin with." He paused and finally looked away at Noah as though the man's face was the frowning image of God waiting to cast him into hell "Can't fix something that was never broken."

It was the last thing Jamie said before the counselors arrived, the last thing he would utter until he was forced to pack his things to be shipped away back home where his own personal hell awaited him.

0000000

"Six stitches," the nurse said as she clipped the thread from Luke's suture. "Could have been a lot worse."

Luke remained silent as he sat in the nurse's office. The five other beds with paper wrapped on top were empty, and the room smelled like rubbing alcohol. Luke stared out ahead at nothing in particular and tried not focus on the sharp pain of his stitched-up gash or the pulsating discomfort of the bruised forming on his left cheekbone. The nurse, a soft-faced woman with kind eyes and chubby cheeks touched Luke's bruise with the tips of her fingers and turned his head towards her so he could meet her eyes.

"It's okay if you want to talk about it, sweetie," she said.

Luke blinked. His face was slack of any emotion—not pain, not confusion. For the first time since arriving at this place, he didn't know how to charm his way out of a situation.

A knock came at the door and Andy poked his head in. "Hey, Joyce," he said.

Nurse Joyce turned in her swivel chair as Luke sat atop an examining table. "No visiting hours, honey," she said. "Sorry."

Andy opened the door wider and Luke saw his friends from his cabin standing in the doorway, including Noah.

"What about carolers?" Andy asked.

Nurse Joyce gave him a look as if he were her son asking to the car out on a Friday night. She stood from her chair and went to her desk. "I told you, Andrew—no visitors." She paused, then picked up her cup of steaming coffee. "Now I'm going to get some more coffee from the lounge," the Nurse said. "And while I'm gone, you kids had better not be in here."

Luke saw Nurse Joyce give the boys in the doorway as wink as she passed by them, and Andy gave her a smile. "Thanks, Joyce," Andy whispered to her.

When she was gone, Luke's bunkmates entered the room and closed the door behind them. Andy stood near the door as surveillance and Ryan instantly sat in Joyce's swivel chair and rolled around the room.

"Hey, Snyder!" he called, rolling backwards to meet his friend.

"Nice shiner," Paul said, pointing to Luke's bruise. He flounced on the nearby bed and propped his feet up on the paper wrapping. "I ought to get sick more often," he said. "This place ain't too shabby."

Luke looked over at Noah, who stood near the door silently. He made no move towards Luke, only gazed at him with a sorry sort of look on his face.

"You missed the _best_ moment at dinner," Eli said, sitting on Nurse Joyce's desk. He rummaged through the drawers and popped a mint he had found into his mouth. "Ricky's back on mess hall patrol, looking slimy as ever—"

"And he comes up to our table like a dog facing a rolled up newspaper," Ryan said, spinning in the swivel chair.

"Luckily for us," Paul said, pointing to Luke. "Tonight was pasta night and there were these little flecks of garlic in the sauce—"

"But of course to Ricky, they looked like peanuts," Eli said, munching on his mint.

"So Stringbean over there," Ryan said, pointing to Paul, "decides he wants to take a walk with his food for whatever reason—"

"I turn around for a _second_," Paul said, "and Ricky is standing right behind me. He jumps away from my plate like I've got a sushi platter of dead spiders."

Eli held his hand out. "But that's not the best part—"

"Guys," Luke said. His soft, unexpected voice pierced through the room and stunned the boys into silence. "I know what you're doing."

Ryan pushed his chair towards Luke. "What do you mean?" he asked, shrugging.

"You don't have to play naïve like this," Luke said. "I'm fine, really."

Luke's friends were silent. They had been ousted as trying to take Luke's mind off the horrible matter that had happened to him and now didn't know how to behave.

"He really did a number on you," Andy said from the door.

Luke looked at him and smiled slightly. He touched the stitches on his forehead. "I'm still prettier than you, right?"

Andy gave him a nod. "Always."

"You gonna be okay?" Eli said from the nurse's desk.

Luke sighed and folded his hands between his legs. "I'll be okay." He looked at the serious, worried faces of his friends and offered them a laugh. "Look, it could have been a lot worse. He didn't . . ." Luke trailed off, pained by the sudden vivid images of the attack.

There was another pregnant pause. Paul sat up on the bed. "If you need anything," he said. "Anything at all—"

"I know," Luke said, nodding and smiling weakly. He felt hot, itchy tears climb the back of his throat but swallowed them before they had a chance to leap from his eyes. "Thanks," he said to his friends.

"We should give Luke some time to himself," Andy said. He opened the door and motioned for the boys to follow him. "Come on."

Luke's friends gave him a reassuring back slap and a squeeze on the shoulder before leaving with a wave. Noah straggled behind.

"Mayer, come on," Andy said.

Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to Andy. "Can you just give me a second?" he asked. Andy nodded and closed the door.

Luke stared at the floor as Noah came closer. He felt ashamed and embarrassed and he didn't know why. Noah stood before him silently for a beat, neither of them know what to say.

"Thanks," Luke said finally. He looked up into Noah's eyes. "You know, for stopping Jamie."

"You put up a good fight," Noah said, his eyes wandering around the room. "Theresa was just lucky to get there in time."

Luke nodded slowly. "So is he . . .?"

"He left about an hour ago," Noah said.

Silence again. The clock on the wall ticked melodically, it was the only thing that broke the silence between the two boys.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Luke said.

Noah gave him a questioning look.

"You know, about the poem," Luke said. He suddenly realized that Noah may not have known it was about him, and felt a fresh wave of mortification swallowing him whole. "If uh," he stammered. "If I embarrassed you or anything—"

"Luke, I knew the poem was about me," Noah said.

Luke's eyes shot to Noah. "You did?"

Noah nodded with a small smile.

Luke closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm so sorry," he said. "It was never meant to be read out loud—I was gonna toss it the second I left the building, I swear!"

"Luke," Noah said with a small laugh. "It's okay."

"You're not freaked out?" Luke asked.

Noah shrugged. "No, I mean . . . it was really good," he said. "It was flattering."

_Flattering_. Luke played the word over and over again in his head. Noah was flattered by Luke's poem—not creeped out, not disgusted. He thought it was good, _really_ good. Luke found himself smiling, the first real smile since before Jamie attacked him.

"Anyway," Luke said, waving. Charles shouldn't have read it out loud like that."

"Yeah," Noah said. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately."

There was another pause. Luke realized he was smiling at Noah and he lowered his head, roses blooming in his cheeks. He let out a nervous laugh and touched his stitches.

"Does it hurt?" Noah asked.

Luke looked at him again and shook his head. "It's alright," he said.

Luke's heart sped up faster as he watched Noah's hand travel hesitantly to his face. Noah's fingers hovered close to Luke's forehead, as if they couldn't decide where to go. Luke saw Noah swallow hard, a sweat forming on his brow. He seemed nervous. Luke continued to watch Noah's eyes as his fingertips gently brushed along the suture of his skin, eliciting a red-hot sensation of burning. But it wasn't the painful kind of burn Jamie's hands had given Luke—this was a tingling sensation that dried Luke's mouth and drew all the air out of his lungs.

Noah's touch was tender, lingering, feeling Luke's skin in a way his gaze never could. Luke's eyes fluttered to a close as Noah touched him. He thought he could feel Noah moving closer, his body heat mingling with Luke's as his labored breath drew nearer and nearer to Luke's lips . . .

Luke opened his eyes and saw that Noah was, indeed, much closer to him. Noah's body seemed to tremble, unprepared for what his hormones were telling him to do. Luke looked into Noah's smoldering, ocean-blue eyes.

"I think you've breached the safety zone," Luke whispered.

Before Noah could respond, a knock came at the door. Noah quickly pulled away from Luke as Andy stuck his head in the room again.

"Noah?" he called. "We have to go."

"Yeah, coming," Noah said quickly. He stuck his hands in his pockets again and nodded towards Luke. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Luke nodded ever-so-slightly at Noah's back and watched him leave. The boys gave one last wave and Luke smiled at them. When the door closed for good, Luke lay back on the sickbed and curled into a ball. He touched his stitches again and could feel the remnants of Noah's soft, warm caress spreading on his skin. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling.

**To be continued**


	9. Home

Noah tossed and turned in his bed all night, sleep evading him no matter how many sheep he counted. Whenever he closed his eyes, Luke was there behind his lids, smiling in that casual way he did as if nothing in the world bothered him. Noah tried putting his pillow over his head, but that only made it hard for him to breathe. He tried counting the knots in the wooden beam of the rafters, but he always managed to lose count when his thoughts went elsewhere, his imagination conjuring up a specifically strange scenario that involved him and Luke alone somewhere in the camp. Sometimes they were eating at the mess hall, other times they were walking to mass together, but the conversation was always the same—

"_I need to tell you something_," Luke would say.

"_Yeah_?" Noah would ask. "_What is it_?"

Then, in Noah's scenario, Luke would tell him that he had a crush on him and that he felt bad for keeping it in. Noah's brain only ever used the rather elementary word, "crush" instead of something slightly more profound, but he knew that in real life, that wasn't Luke's style.

Noah turned over onto his back again and kicked the bed sheets from his legs. The air was too hot. The night was still too. His heart was beating far too loudly—

Noah jumped when he heard one of his bunkmates groan in their sleep. He sat up on his elbows and looked around the room to see who was having such an awful dream. The person groaned again and Noah looked to his left across from Eli sleeping peacefully on his cot. Luke turned over in his sleep and let out a soft whimper. Noah sat up farther to get a better look at him, and when Luke jerked in his sleep and let out a distressed cry, Noah got out of bed and crept over to his side, never minding the cold floor on his bare feet.

"Luke?" Noah whispered. He looked down as his friend lay on his back, a thick sweat drenching his body.

"_Mmph_," Luke mumbled, straining his neck as if something was reaching for him.

Noah put his hand on Luke's shoulder and gently shook him. "Luke, wake up," he said. He wondered if Luke was dreaming about the horrible incident between him and Jamie. He wondered if Luke was having the same nightmare he had had his first night in the cabin. He wondered, after being in a place like this, if Luke would ever get a decent night's sleep again.

Luke let out a gasp in his sleep and turned his head sharply to the side. Noah found himself reaching his hand out and stroking the man's brow, the way he imagined his own mother must have done when he was too young to remember her. "Shh," he whispered. Noah wiped the matted hair from Luke's forehead, tenderly pushing the strands away as not to wake his sleeping friend. He smiled, feeling a giddy rush in his chest as Luke's breathing slowed down and his head turned towards Noah's hand.

Luke's eyes fluttered open, soft as a butterfly's wings, and he smiled up at Noah, thinking the man was a part of his dream that had suddenly gotten a million times better. Noah nearly pulled his hand away, scared to death that he had woken Luke and frightened the man somehow, but Luke surprised him by putting his hand over Noah's and squeezing it gently. Noah breathed a sigh of relief, of shock, of happiness as Luke's unconscious mind responded to him so warmly.

"_You're not my son if you don't—"_

Noah's face dropped. He pulled his hand away quickly and watched as Luke rolled over onto his side. Stupid. Why had Noah been so stupid? Why was he making up these feelings when he damn well knew the only way he could make it out of here was to play it straight and—

_I _am_ straight_, Noah thought to himself as he made his way back to his bed. He lay down and pulled the covers over himself, thinking bitterly back to the letter his father had written to him a few weeks ago, the letter that gave him an ultimatum to either become an ideal son for a military man of high reputation, or become one of "them" and kiss college goodbye. Noah had been stung by his father's hastily-written words, but had also found comfort in Charles, who told him that to be truly happy was to truly be himself.

And now . . . after so many weeks of letting himself get too close to "them," after trusting that things would work out even if he made a friend or two in such a horrible place, it took only one week for a boy with blond hair and a penchant for trouble to turn everything upside down.

Noah turned his back away from Luke's side of the room and faced Charles, instead. Remembering the pass Charles had made at him before, and remember how betrayed he felt when he was sure Charles was the only one who understood his plight of keeping up straight pretenses, Noah rolled over onto his stomach and threw his pillow over his head.

Sleep wouldn't come for another two hours.

0000000

"Alright, spill," Paul whispered to Noah.

They sat together in mass the next morning, arms crossed over their chests as they listened to Pastor John go on about Leviticus and the fires of hell. Noah had asked Paul for a word at breakfast after remaining silent the whole morning. He had sat at the far end of the table, away from Luke and the rest of his bunkmates, save for Paul. They had asked why he was being so reserved that morning and why he looked like shit warmed over, but Noah only gave them a weak smile and blamed it on the increasingly cloudy weather.

"I'm not sure this is the best place," Noah whispered, looking around as a few counselors dotted the walls along the outside rows.

"You said you wanted to talk, now talk," Paul said. He glanced at Noah. "Or would you rather listen to Pastor Fabulous' Sermon on Mount Queer?"

Noah snorted a laugh and a few of his neighbors in his row looked over at him. He held up an apologetic hand. "Sorry," he said. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Don't take this the wrong way," Noah whispered to Paul.

"I like where this is going," Paul mumbled.

"It's just that . . ." Noah hesitated, looking around to make sure no one else was listening in. "You mentioned being . . . I mean, the reason you're here is because you're . . ."

Paul gave him a sideways look. "The term is 'bisexual,' Noah, and you won't go to hell for saying it."

Noah chuckled. "Right, sorry," he said.

Paul smiled and shook his head. "Straight men are so cute." He uncrossed his arms and looked out ahead at the crowd of unenthusiastic church-goers. "Anyway, what of it?" he asked.

Noah licked his dry lips and felt his ears burning in embarrassment. It was a simple question, why was he getting so bent out of shape? "I wanted to know, how did you realize you liked guys as well as girls?"

Paul shrugged. "Same way you knew you liked girls."

Noah felt a lump forming in his throat and tried in vain to swallow it. "Yeah," he said. He wanted the conversation to be over with, he wanted Paul's answer to be something he could live with, to give him a piece of mind, but Paul must have been able to read his mind, because the young man turned to him and whispered,

"A lot of people are confused about what bisexuality means." He looked at Noah. "There's a theory that we're all a little bi-curious, if you catch my drift."

Noah looked at him. "Really?" he asked. "How do you figure?" He suddenly felt intrigued by Paul's wisdom, felt like for the first time since he came here, he was actually learning something.

"If you think about it," Paul went on, "I mean _really_ think about it, the words 'gay' and 'straight' are arbitrary. They only assign meaning so we can label things how we see fit." He smiled at Noah. "Love is love—you can't put a label on it."

Noah looked at his friend. He wasn't sure how to feel by this man's interpretation. All his life, he was taught to think one way, that most things were in black and white. He had never lived in a gray area before.

"Why do you ask?" Paul said.

Noah looked out a few rows up in the crowd and saw the back of Luke's head either nodding off or doing something else as the Pastor spoke on the pulpit.

"Just . . . curious," Noah said.

0000000

When the boys were escorted back to their cabin's that day for afternoon Bible study, Noah felt a hand on his arm as he entered the cabin. He turned and saw Luke behind him.

"Hey," Luke said, shuffling into the bunk with the rest of his comrades. "You okay?"

Noah pulled away from Luke as gently as he could, in a way that tried not to hurt his friend's feelings, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said.

"To your cots, gentleman!" Ricky called as the last few boys entered the cabin. He stood in the doorway with a stack of letters tucked under his arm. When every camper was accounted for at their bed, he felt up the letters. "Mail day," he said.

Luke looked around the room as most of his bunkmates groaned and frowned. He turned to Eli as he sat on his bed. "Why don't they like mail day?" he asked.

"Talbot!" Ricky called, reading off an envelope.

Eli leaned over to Luke from his cot and whispered, "Mail means news from home. Most of us here just get a one-sided lecture from our parents about being good, straight little boys."

"Anderson!" Ricky called.

Eli sighed. "It's very depressing to know that the place you call home won't be your home until you've changed who you are."

"LaToure!"

Luke watched as Ryan got up and got his letter with a giant smile on his face. "Ryan seems pretty excited about it," Luke said to Eli.

"Oh," Eli said, rolling his eyes. "That's 'cause his sister sends him news about his boyfriend back home. She codes them in a way the counselors can't read it."

"Markowizt!" Ricky read off.

Eli stood from his cot. "That's me," he said.

As Eli left to get his letter, Luke looked across the empty bunk at Noah, who sat on his bed with the Bible opened in his lap. He was reading furiously as though it had the answer to a question that was plaguing his mind. Luke sighed heavily and wished he knew the answer to whatever question Noah had.

"That's it for this week," Ricky said. "I'll be back after your studying to pick up your letters to be placed on file." He turned on his heels and exited the cabin, leaving the young men who had gotten news from home to rip through their envelopes.

Luke sat back in his bed. Eli flounced on his cot and opened the envelope. He took the letter out and scanned it quickly, his large eyes moving back and forth behind his thick glasses like marbles. He shook his head and laughed.

"Good news?" Luke asked,

Eli looked at him. "Depends," he said. "My ma's pregnant."

Luke's eyebrows raised. "Congratulations," he said, unsure if Eli really was happy for his mother.

"Yeah, well," Eli said, stuffing his letter back in the envelope. "At least they can start fresh with this one." He looked at Luke. "No mail?" he asked.

Luke shook his head. "Not at this address, anyway."

Eli gave him a look. "Why not?"

Luke sat back in his bed and sighed. He didn't want to think about home, he didn't want to think about all the people back in Oakdale he missed so desperately. "My biological dad's the one who sent me here," he said. He looked at Eli and gave him a weak smile. "The rest of my family thinks I'm in Italy."

Before Eli could open his mouth to further ask why, a gut-wrenching cry came from one of the boys in the cabin. All the heads in the room went to Ryan as he dropped his letter and envelop on the floor. Ryan put a hand over his mouth, distressed about something that seemed as gruesome as a death in the family, and he stood from his cot on shaking legs.

The cabin watched in stunned silence as Ryan paced a small area of the room, his face scrunched in fear and confusion, tears welling in his eyes. When it seemed like he couldn't bare it any longer, he turned all his frustration and anger and despair to the window and punched at his with his fist. The window made and ear-splitting cracking noise and Ryan pulled back instantly, blood dripping from his knuckles. His neighbor in the next bed tried to get him to move away from the window he had broken, but Ryan only pushed him away and ran out of the cabin. His bunkmates soon followed after him, running to catch up as Ryan raced down the path to the lake.

Luke stopped at the water's edge with his friends, and they all watched as Ryan ran down the length of the wooden dock. He stopped at the very edge, held his head between his hands, and yelled to the heavens, "GODDAMN IT!"

Ryan fell to his knees after his forceful curse, his body shaking. He wept openly on the dock, crumpling to a ball and resting his head on the wood planks.

Luke looked around at his stunned cabin mates. "What do we do?" he asked.

"What happened?"

The boys turned to see a group of counselors running to the scene, Pastor John leading the frantic pack. He looked at Luke as if everything had been his fault. "What's going on?" the Pastor asked.

"He just freaked out!" Eli cried.

"He was fine one minute," Noah said, "then after he read his letter from home—"

"Here!" Charles called as he ran to the lake from cabin three. He waved Ryan's letter in the air.

"Give that to me!" Pastor John yelled, snatching the paper from Charles' hand. His face dropped the instant he read it. "Oh, no," he said.

Luke struggled to read over the tall Pastor's shoulder, and saw that, as well as a short letter from Ryan's sister, there was a newspaper clipping attached to it from _The Daily Star_ in St. Joseph, Illinois.

**Hate Crime Kills Local Boy**, the headline read. Luke looked at the picture of the young, good-looking teenager who, the caption read, had been brutally attacked by a group of high school boys on his way home from work last Tuesday. Luke's eyes scanned the short article and saw the words 'homophobic,' 'gay,' and 'pipe wrench' and knew the story without even having to read the article.

Luke looked out at the dock as one of the counselors tried to console Ryan as he sobbed. Pastor John crumpled the newspaper clipping in his hand and rubbed his eye before motioning towards the group of boys. "Back to your cabin," he said. "We'll handle this."

0000000

The mood the rest of the day was somber and quiet. The clouds continued to roll in, threatening the camp with a heavy downpour. Ryan had been taken to the nurse's station to bandage his wound and rest. The the counselors didn't speak of the incident. There were no words read at evening mass for the boy killed in St. Joseph. The counselors didn't encourage warm prayers towards the slain victim, nor did they mention Ryan's condition. All the boys from cabin three could do was sit in mass and wait, sit at dinner and wait, and when Noah couldn't take sitting around and waiting anymore, he asked Andy to take him to the nurse's station under the guise that he had a passage in the Bible to show the bereaved Ryan to help get him out of his depression.

"He's on suicide watch," Andy said as he walked with Noah down the path to the nurse's office. A rolled of thunder bowled across the dark night sky.

"Suicide watch?" Noah asked. "You don't think it'll come to that, do you?"

"I don't know," Andy sighed. "Something like this has never happened before at the camp—the counselors have no idea what to do."

"But do you think Ryan would do something like that?" Noah asked. It scared him to think that his friend, who was always good for a laugh and a kind word, would turn inwardly so much as to take his own life after the horrific death of the person he loved.

"I hope not," Andy said. They stopped as they came to the office. Andy turned to Noah, his eyes scared. "If it were me . . . if someone I loved was taken from me like that . . ." he trailed off, his voice choking on his own tears. He shook his head. "I just don't know, man."

Andy opened the door to the office. They walked down the hall and knocked on the door to the sick ward. Andy slowly opened the door without waiting for an answer.

"Hi," he called to Nurse Joyce.

She sat by Ryan's bedside on her swivel chair, holding his hand as he lay on his side, staring out at nothing in particular. When she noticed Andy in the doorway, she motioned with her head for them to come in.

Noah followed Andy inside and stood awkwardly by the door. Nurse Joyce whispered something to Ryan and he nodded his head slowly. Noah watched as she kissed his forehead and stroked his hair like a concerned mother. "You sweet angel," she said to him.

Nurse Joyce patted his hand once last time and stood. She turned towards the door and dabbed her tear-stained cheeks with the sleeve of her nurse's jacket. The kind woman passed by the boys and placed her hand on Andy's arm. "You have five minutes," she said, heading out the door.

Andy nodded and looked at Noah. "Go on," he said. "I'll be right outside." He followed the nurse out the door and closed it quietly.

Noah put his hands in his pockets and looked over at Ryan. He slowly made his way to his friend, as if each step he took broke the man's heart even more.

"Hey," he said, standing at the foot of Ryan's bed. When his friend made no response, Noah motioned towards the door. "I can leave, if you want."

"Stay," Ryan said suddenly. His voice was thick from crying all afternoon.

Noah nodded and made his way to the nurse's swivel chair. He sat down and looked at his friend. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Ryan sniffled and rolled over onto his back. His eyes were bloodshot from his tears and his face was red and puffy. He put a bandaged hand on his forehead, the one he had broken the window with. "I'm tired," he said. He sniffled again and shook his head. "I'm tired of this place."

Noah pursed his lips. He had no idea how to act or what to say. A clap of thunder from outside broke the aching silence between them, and soon sheets of rain began pelting the cabin.

"Can I get you anything?" Noah asked.

A stray tear rolled down the side of Ryan's face towards his ear. "I just can't believe . . ." he paused, sickened by the image of his passive boyfriend being beaten senseless for nothing. "I can't believe this happened."

Noah swallowed hard and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, praying for God to take away Ryan's pain. "I'm so sorry," he said to his friend.

Ryan turned his head to look at him. "I just wish I wasn't here," he said. "I wish I could have been home to see him and take care of him and . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut. "And to tell him that I loved him every single day before something like this happened." He let out a distressed sob.

Noah put his hand on Ryan's shoulder. He couldn't imagine losing someone as close to him as Ryan had—mostly because he never had anyone close enough to lose. He could only guess what the man was feeling, could only place himself in an imaginary situation where someone dear to him was in trouble . . .

And then, Noah remember the day he found Luke in the closet with Jamie, badly hurt and nearly scarred for the rest of his life from a different kind of attack that had, mercifully, been avoided. He remembered how he felt seeing Luke so helpless, he remembered the uncontrollable rage he had for the person responsible for his pain. He remembered that, for a split second in that moment, Luke was the most important person in the world to him.

"What can I do?" Noah asked as he felt tears washing over him. "Tell me what to do."

Ryan only shook his head and looked at him. He closed his eyes again and pressed his quivering lips together. "I want to go home," he sobbed. "I just want to go home."

Noah reached over an embraced Ryan. It wasn't an act of lust or sex or even flirtation as he imaged the counselors would have seen it—instead, it was merely an act of decency, of two human beings connecting over a tragedy. Noah rubbed Ryan's back as he sobbed, and could only hope that his gesture provided some kind of comfort.

0000000

Luke dreamed of the fiery lake again, of stars falling from the sky like bombs and the face of his mother blinking in and out from behind his eyelids. He dreamed of the cracked, broken window Ryan had punched in with his fist, jagged and dripping with blood. Through the hole in the window, Luke saw Pastor John smiling deviously at him.

In his dream, Luke was running through the forest without getting anywhere, running from an invisible evil that threatened to bust his head in with a pipe wrench—

"_You've had this coming for a while,"_

—if he didn't slow down. The smoking, burning trees merged together to form a wall and all of a sudden Luke was back home and his mother was yelling at him, and he was so damn mad he couldn't _help_ but push her . . .

The hands that pushed his mother became the hands that pushed Luke to the floor of the closet, Jamie's hands. He was tall and faceless, save for two eyes like broken glass staring at him. Pastor John—

"_I'm sorry you can't enjoy it,"_

—was in the corner, watching them with his hands over his ears. Luke reached for the door, swinging it open with the power of his desperation, and Noah stood on the other side with a white mask over his face, walking away slowly, slowly, slowly . . .

0000000

Luke woke from his dream with a deep gasp. Rain pounded the roof of his cabin and this time, as lightning flashed outside, there was no pair of arms to catch him. He breathed heavily and looked over at Noah, who seemed as though he hadn't slept since lights out. Noah sat up in his bed.

"Luke," he said, "what's wrong?"

Luke stared at Noah a moment longer, unsure if he was still dreaming. He looked over at Ryan's empty bed and ripped the covers off of his body. Luke sprang from his cot and stuffed his sockless feet into his shoes.

"What're you doing?" Noah asked.

Luke ignored him. He stood and began walking towards the door as another ribbon of lightning pieced the sky.

"Luke!" Noah called. He got out of bed and put his shoes on hastily, following the determined Luke out in the cold rain without so much as a jacket. "Luke, wait!" he yelled over the rain.

Luke made his way across the clearing towards the bathhouse. He passed by the small building, rain drenching him from head to toe, and stepped into the dark, dense forest. Before he could take another step forward, Noah grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Luke, don't!" Noah cried.

"Let me go!" Luke yelled through the rain.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Noah asked.

"I'm leaving," Luke said, turning towards the woods again.

"Luke, you're being irrational!" Noah cried. "You won't make it two seconds out there by yourself, you'll die—"

"Don't you get it?!" Luke screamed, turning to get right in Noah's face. A loud clap of thunder accentuated Luke's rage. "We're already dead!" he yelled. "_This_ is hell!" he pointed to the ground. "This place, these people . . . they're killing us, Noah!"

"You can't just leave like this!"

"I can't stay here anymore!" Luke yelled. "I won't let them break me!" He turned for the woods again and Noah grabbed his arm, whipping him back around. "Let go of me!" Luke yelled, trying his best to push the taller man away.

"No, I'm not letting you leave!" Noah shouted.

"_Why_?!"

A loud boom of thunder rolled in the sky and echoed into the night. Noah looked at Luke though the rain, their shirts matted to their skin and their hair dripping with beads of rain. He stared into Luke's eyes, holding onto his arms as if letting go would mean he would lose him and become what Ryan had become.

"Because," Noah said, his voice lowered. "I need you . . . I need you to be here." He swallowed the dryness in his throat and hoped that the heavy rain masked the sound of his pounding heart. "I need you to be safe."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't try to pull away from Noah's strong grip. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "Why do you care so much?"

Another low boom of thunder wedged between their heated conversation. The rain in Noah's eyes caused him to blink rapidly, but he didn't take his gaze off of Luke. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know anything anymore. I'm just . . . I'm scared and I'm alone and when you're here, I feel like I belong." Noah paused, studying Luke's intense face as the rain poured over them both. "I need you here," he said, taking in a deep breath as though he were about to submerge himself under water. "I just . . . I need you."

Luke stared up into Noah's eyes, two pools of sky in an increasingly stormy night. He was literally stunned to silence, unsure of what to say or how to act after Noah's confession. All he knew was that it felt good to have Noah hold his arms the way he was holding him, protecting him from his own mistake. He wanted to curl up into Noah's chest and rest his head on his beating heart, sheltered from the cold rain by the man's arms.

Noah had stopped thinking. The world around him was gone, nothing but a blur, save for the dripping wet face of the boy he was sure he loved. Noah reached out a shaking hand and touched the stitches on Luke's face as tenderly as he had the other night. The rough suture reminded him of how much he wanted to protect Luke from every danger in the world.

Luke closed his eyes and felt himself spinning downwards rapidly at Noah's white-hot touch. The rain didn't bother him anymore. Nothing bothered him anymore.

Noah trailed his hand down to Luke's cheek and rested his palm there. He leaned in slowly, the rain wetting his lips and washing away all doubt. He planted his mouth on Luke's, tasting wet earth and warmness as he kissed him. Luke welcomed the kiss by leaning in and turning his head slightly. The rain pelted over their heads and thunder and lightning broke the sky above them, but the two boys didn't seem to notice. Luke slipped his has under Noah's arms and trailed his fingers along his back, causing Noah to shudder slightly at his touch.

Noah pulled away just barely, the ends of their noses touching. They embraced each other in the rain, the heat from their bodies warming each other. Luke rubbed his nose against Noah's and smiled slightly.

"This time you _definitely_ breeched the safety zone," he whispered.

Noah shook his head. "I don't care." He captured Luke's mouth in his again, allowing more heat and passion from himself as he gently slipped his tongue past Luke's lips.

Both men knew that _this_ was what it was supposed to feel like, _this_ was what life was all about. It wasn't about satisfying a need or enacting revenge—it was love, pure and simple. The grayness swimming around Noah's head had dissolved, as did the lines of black and white that had been ingrained into his thinking all his life. Now, all Noah could see was bright, beautiful color.

They parted and Luke let out a sigh as Noah held him close. The two men stood in the rain, lost in each other. If Luke had looked more carefully, he could have seen the rain falling from the sky like diamonds, baptizing him with an ethereal feeling of love. If Luke had looked more carefully, he would have seen Charles in the window of their cabin.

Watching them.

**To be continued**


	10. Worms

Pastor John stepped out of the office building and breathed in the fresh, clean scent of the air after a heavy storm. He needed to clear his head before his meeting with that heedless Snyder boy, to mentally prepare himself and what he was going to say just as he would prepare for a sermon. The Pastor looked up at the overcast sky, the trees still dripping with rain from last night's storm. He looked at the muddy ground, thinking of how he could relate the word of God to the recent thunderstorm—turbulent, wrathful, but ultimately replenishing when all was said and done.

Pastor John's eyes fell on a worm wriggling its way to the surface of the mud. He knelt down on his haunches and inspected the vermin as it fought for air. The Pastor reached over and plucked it from the wet ground as though it were a daisy. He watched it struggle between his fingers, the slimy insect desperate for freedom as Pastor John passed it off to his other hand.

How could anyone like, even love, something so disgusting? How could anyone say it was useful in this world when all it did was feed on dirt and burrow away from the sun? And still . . . still, it was a creature of God. Still, it had a heartbeat.

"Pastor John?"

The Pastor stood quickly and whipped around to see Theresa standing in the doorway of the building. "What is it, Theresa?" he asked.

The pretty young redhead seemed hesitant, almost afraid that she had disrupted whatever the Pastor had been doing. "Uh," she stammered. "Charles Thompson wants to speak with you in your office."

Pastor John looked at the creature in his hand and threw it back on the ground. He decided he didn't like worms, after all.

"Tell him to wait," the Pastor said. "I have a meeting with Snyder."

0000000

Luke was all smiles the minute he woke up. He tried to suppress his happiness, tried to make himself look as miserable as everyone else, especially since Ryan was still mourning his tragedy. But he couldn't help it.

Every time Noah looked at him with that knowing, blissful gaze, Luke felt his stomach do jumping jacks. Every time he smiled at him, cheeks burning in redness, all Luke wanted to do was reach out and kiss him as passionately as they had the night before. He had been worried that Noah wanted to forget last night for whatever reason, but as their cabin left to go to morning mass, Luke felt Noah's hand brush up against his, their fingers entwining with for a brief second. Luke looked at Noah, and the two had smiled at each other. No one else seemed wise to their secret, no one except for Charles, who had watched their forbidding exchange with a stone face.

After mass, while the campers exited the main lodge like a herd of cattle, Luke felt himself being pulled away from the crowd as he stepped outside. He looked at the person pulling him away and saw that it was Noah leading him to the side of the building away from the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Luke whispered with a smile.

Noah put Luke's back to the wall of the lodge, as if to shield him from wander eyes, and looked around. He smiled at Luke. "I thought we'd never be alone," he said.

"Are you crazy?" Luke said, laughing. "What if someone sees?"

"It's worth it."

Noah stopped any further protest Luke might have had with his mouth. Luke accepted Noah's kiss greedily, as if they would never be able to kiss again the rest of their lives after this. That was part of the thrill—the forbiddance of it all. Noah placed his hands on either side of Luke's face to take more of him in. Luke pulled him closer by his shirt and breathed a moan into his mouth. When they parted, Luke touched his forehead to Noah's.

"I've been wanting to do that since last night," Noah whispered.

"This is _crazy_," Luke laughed.

"I know," Noah said. "I've never felt this way about anyone in my life." He stroked Luke's cheek with the back of his fingers and leaned in to whisper, "I like it."

Luke smiled. "I like it, too."

Noah kissed him again, slower this time, savoring Luke's taste in case they couldn't be alone for a long time afterwards. When they parted, a smiling Luke gave Noah one last peck on the lips and turned away. He slipped back into the crowd without anyone noticing. Noah waited for a beat before joining him

0000000

Pastor John raised his head from the papers on his desk at the sound of the knocking on his office door. "Come in," he called.

Luke entered, head high with an apathetic look on his face. The Pastor smiled at him and offered him a seat. "Thank you for coming to see me again, Luke," he said.

Luke rolled his eyes as he sat down. "Not that I had much of a choice, right?"

Pastor John chuckled and set the pen he was holding on his desk. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's talk," he said.

Luke nodded. "Okay," he said. "What should we talk about? Sports? Weather? Sodom and Gomorrah?"

"Let's talk about _you_," the Pastor said.

Luke blinked. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "How's Ryan doing?"

Pastor John's smile stayed on his face, unwavering for even a second. "He's holding up. We've been praying for him." The Pastor paused and looked Luke up and down. "We've been praying for you, too."

Luke faked a laugh. "Well, I hope you don't lose too much sleep over it—"

"We've been praying for you since the incident with Jaime."

Luke stared at the Pastor. He was thrown off guard at the mention of the man who almost . . . well, who tried to hurt him. "I don't want to talk about that," Luke said.

Pastor John picked his pen up and scribbled on the notepad on his desk. Luke anxiously watched him write. When the Pastor was done writing, he dropped his pen and smiled at Luke once again.

"You know, you're something else, Luke," he said. "We've never had anyone like you at this camp."

Luke took a chance and pressed the matter. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean," Pastor John said, "we've had a lot of commotion around here since you arrived. You're smart, people seem to like you. You certainly got Jaime's attention—"

"I said I don't want to talk about that!" Luke cried.

"Fine," the Pastor said, holding up his hands. He didn't seem bothered in the slightest by Luke's outburst. "I'm just sorry it had to happen to you."

Luke raised his eyebrows at the man. "Really?" he asked.

The Pastor motioned towards him. "Aren't _you_?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Luke said.

"All I'm saying—"

"No, you know what?" Luke yelled, standing from his chair. "This is crazy. You're wasting your time talking to me. I may have come here on my own will, but I am _not_ going to let you change me."

The Pastor smiled up at Luke condescendingly. "Luke," he said, cocking his head to the side. "You may not believe it, but at the end of this program, no matter how many years it takes, eventually these people see the righteous path. They find God's light."

"No," Luke said, shaking his head and pointing at the man behind the desk. "That's where you're _all_ wrong. Do you really think the people that come out of this stay brainwashed forever?"

"It's not brainwashing," the Pastor said, "but yes, I do."

Luke smiled slowly at the man. "Speaking from experience, Pastor John?" he asked.

A flicker of something passed over the preacher's face, something that caused his smile to twitch ever-so-slightly as he calculated Luke's question. "We're not talking about me right now," he said.

"What's wrong?" Luke asked. "You can dish it out your psychobabble, but you can't take it?"

"That's enough, Luke—"

"Tell me how it really feels, Pastor," Luke said, walking closer to him. "Tell me about all the nights you spend by yourself, secretly wishing you could give in to your desires."

"My calling is greater than the flesh," the Pastor said. "My calling is to God."

"God can only fulfill you so much," Luke said, resting his hands on the Pastor's desk. "Every person has needs. Every person wants to be loved."

"I'm loved by God," the Pastor said.

"And that's . . . wonderful," Luke said in all sincerity. He leaned over to Pastor John, the desk separating them, and whispered, "I'm just saddened by the fact that, if you have a woman in your life like the good, heterosexual man you're supposed to, you won't be able to love her the way you might love someone else." Luke surveyed the Pastor's face, reading his blank emotions. "Someone you're not supposed to."

Suddenly, at the seriousness in Luke's tone, Pastor John reached out and grabbed his neck. He pulled the boy closer, causing Luke to cry out and stumble slightly as the man yanked him nearer.

"Listen to me, you little shit," the Pastor said through gritted teeth. "Your cutsey little act might work on others, but it won't work on me. You and your perverted little friends are a blight on society. You're _nothing_ in this place, got it? The second you signed that paper, you signed your soul away to me, and I'm the one who has to fix it." He shook Luke and stood from his desk, getting right in he boy's face. Luke struggled to get free, choking from the man's tight grasp. "You're all worms to me," the Pastor said, "and if I had it my way . . . I'd exterminate all of you." Pastor John let got of Luke and pushed him back. He smiled. "But that wouldn't be very Christian of me, now would it?"

Luke stumbled back and gasped for air. He held his neck where the Pastor's tight hands had clamped over him. He looked at the man behind the desk, tears stinging his eyes as the sudden violence of the seemingly cool Pastor took his by surprise.

Pastor John sat back in his chair and leisurely picked up his pen. He scribbled something else on the legal pad and waved Luke away. "We're done here," he said. "Get out."

Luke wasted no time in leaving. He opened the door and bumped into Charles on his way out, who had been waiting in the hallway. A moment passed between them, an icily glare from Charles as Luke brushed past him. There was something sinister, something conniving about the way the man looked at him, as though revenge was about to be enacted. Luke watched as Charles entered the Pastor's office, and continued to watch until the door closed on them and Luke was left alone in the hallway.

0000000

As Luke walked back to his cabin, he saw the line to the mess hall for lunch forming. His bunkmates were near the middle, Noah included, and they smiled as they watched him walk past.

"Hey, Snyder!" Paul called out. "You're just in time for the daily shuffle to the trough."

Luke touched his aching neck and held up his hand to them. "I'm not hungry today," he said, walking past the line.

"Snyder!" Ricky called from the outskirts of the line. He was patrolling the boys to make sure no one straggled behind. "Get in line."

Luke continued to walk, determined to make it back to his cabin. "I said I'm not hungry!" Luke called to him.

Ricky cut through the line and stood before Luke, blocking his path. "Are you ill?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Luke said, staring bitterly at the ground.

"Then get in line!" Ricky yelled, pointing to the other campers.

Luke didn't have time for this. He was sick of regulation. He was sick of orders. He bumped past Ricky. "God, can't you people stand to leave me alone for _one second_?!" he cried.

Before Luke could get any further, he felt Ricky grabbing him by the back of his collar and swinging him around. He threw Luke into the line, nearly causing the camper to fall to his knees.

"Hey, that's not cool!" Eli yelled. He took a step towards Luke to help him, but Luke held his hand up as if to stop his friend.

They boys around Luke were silent as Ricky turned him around by his arm and got in his face. "You eat when we tell you to eat," he said. "You piss when we tell you to piss." He pointed to the boy, his face getting redder. "You may think you're some kind of rockstar around here, Snyder, but you're every bit as damaged as the rest of these kids here."

Luke looked into the man's face without a word. He wanted more than anything to kick Ricky in the knee and make a run for it through the woods. He wanted to get a boat and row out on the lake until he was at a safe portage near a road. More than anything, he wanted it all to be over. Luke stood up straight and turned to face forward in line. Ricky nodded and him and resumed his position as patrolman.

"Alright, boys," he called out. "Eyes forward, show's over."

Luke watched as Noah turned his head slightly to look at him from a few boys up the line. Luke gave him a small, reassuring smile that he knew right away didn't reassure him at all. He felt an impending doom in his gut, like something big was about to happen because of his affair with Noah, because of the Pastor's crazy behavior in his office. He swallowed hard, and prayed to whatever god that was letting all this happen that Noah could hear his thoughts.

_We have to get out of here._

0000000

Pastor John surveyed the face of the young camper who stood before his desk. He was taken aback by what the pale, numb-looking boy had seen, even more taken aback by the fact that Charles Thompson seemed unfazed by the events, as if he was a robot reporting any illicit activity he happened to have seen.

"You're sure?" the Pastor asked as he rocked back in his chair.

Charles nodded once, twice, in quick motions that made him look all the more mechanical. "I saw them."

The Pastor raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his swivel chair. He had expected something like this from Snyder, but the news that Noah Mayer was the one who instigated it further confused him.

"You're one-hundred percent positive that you saw Noah Mayer kiss Luke Snyder late last night?"

The sudden vivid image caused Charles to twitch slightly. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and tried not to think about how it made him feel when he saw Luke and Noah in a passionate embrace last night, the rain beating on them as they first yelled, then kissed, then hugged like lovers who had been together for years. Instead, he focused on the task at hand—reporting his fellow campers for a misdemeanor that would surely hinder their potential recovery. They would have done the same for him, he was sure.

Charles nodded again and straightened his posture, his fists at his side like a soldier. "I'm positive. I heard Mayer and Snyder get up out of their bunks last night. Snyder was trying to run, but Mayer caught up with him . . ." Charles paused and blinked away the image that caused him so much pain. "Then, uh . . . I saw them kiss," he said.

Pastor John looked at Charles for a moment, reading his face to see if the boy was telling the truth. He expected this from Snyder, maybe, but Noah was supposed to be the good one, the shining example of what their camp was about. The thought that he had slipped backwards through the tight clutch of the camp made the Pastor angry, disappointed, but most of all embarrassed.

The Pastor sighed and nodded his head. "Alright," he said. "We'll see to it they're punished accordingly. I'm just amazed that Mayer would do something like this . . . we were making such progress with him—"

"There's something else you don't know," Charles said suddenly.

Pastor John looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "There's more?" he said.

Charles bit his bottom lip. He had no trouble ratting out Luke and Noah—in fact, he saw it as doing the two lovebirds a favor, considering how frivolous Noah had been with him. But ousting more people, making himself look like the villain by pointing fingers at almost his entire cabin felt like crossing a line, like he could never go back. And yet, when Charles really thought about it, he already had crossed the line the minute he let Mayer and Snyder's names fall from his lips. He was already a traitor in so many people's eye.

Charles looked at the Pastor, hoping the man couldn't see the fear in his eyes. "You remember that necklace you took away from Markowitz?"

The Pastor nodded slowly. He watched Charles' eyes, then sat up when the idea dawned on him. "Tell me more," he said.

0000000

At Bible study that afternoon, the boys half-reading, half-lounging on their cots with a passage open but their eyes wandering. Eli lay on his stomach at the head of his bed, one arm dangling over the side. He sighed heavily. Luke looked over as Noah read a passage from the Bible. When Noah saw him looking, he smiled at Luke, his eyes asking him if he was okay.

"And the Good Book says," Paul said from his cot, "'Judge not, and ye shall not be judged.'" His eyes peered over at Luke from the top of the page. "Luke, 6:37."

Luke smiled weakly at Paul. "That's real appropriate," he said.

"I wish Ryan would come back," Eli said with his face half-buried on his mattress. He raised his head and looked around the cabin. "Wadda ya think they're doing to him?" he asked.

"Probably telling him that it's God's will his faggoty boyfriend got murdered," Paul said, reading from the Bible again.

"Don't say that," Noah said, his eyes fixated on the passage he was reading.

"He's right," Luke said.

Noah looked at the sullen Luke. "What happened between you and Pastor John?" he asked, setting his book aside.

Luke shifted on his bed. "Nothing," he said.

"Bullshit," Paul said, flipping to another page in the Bible. "That little hissy fit you threw in the lunch line suggests otherwise."

Luke looked at him, baffled. He let out a laugh and shook his head. "Yeah, well, I'm surprised I'm the only one around here who's been trying to fight back," he said.

"Don't be such a martyr, Snyder," Paul said, finally looking at him. "You're not the only one here who's ever tried to mess with the counselors. And you know what?" Paul sat up and set the Bible aside. "Everyone else who tried got thrown in the _oubliette_."

Luke waved him away. "You know, this whole 'oubliette' thing sounds ridiculous. This isn't Auschwitz, this isn't some kind of Nazi camp where they'll shoot you if you disobey." Luke stood from his cot and looked around. Eli sat up in his bed and stared at Luke. "We outnumber them," Luke said. "We can do something about this—"

"Don't you get it, Snyder?" Eli said, standing. He faced his friend. "Suppose we all rise up like Warsaw and take the camp over. Then what? What will we have to go home to?"

"You can dream all you like, Luke," Paul said calmly. "But the fact of the matter is, our parents would rather shell out thousands of dollars to send us here to be brainwashed than have a fag for a son."

Luke looked around the room at his bunkmates. They stared at him with a collective look of defeat on their faces, as if they knew the truth and pitied Luke for being so naïve. Luke looked at Noah and he seemed worried, afraid, as though he had just realized that, by liking Luke, he was putting himself in danger.

"Noah?" he asked.

He hoped for some validation, he hoped he wasn't the only one whose soul hadn't been crushed. He looked at the faces of his bunkmates and realized that his hopes were futile.

Suddenly, Ricky came bursting through the cabin door. "Up!" he yelled. "Everybody get up!"

The boys of cabin three shuffled to their feet and stood at the head of their beds. They stared ahead like soldiers taking orders.

"Random bunk inspection," Ricky called. He walked straight to Eli's cot, hardly random at all, and snapped his fingers at the boy. "Move," he ordered.

Eli moved to the side, hesitating slightly as though Ricky's command might have been a joke. Luke watched out of the corner of his eye as Ricky pulled Eli's cot apart—throwing blankets aside, ripping the pillow away from the bed, and finally flipping the mattress over. He checked Eli's cot as though the boy were hording something as dangerous as drugs or weapons. Ricky clawed through the blankets on the floor and checked the mattress again, grunting in frustration as he went. Luke glanced over at Eli and saw his friend sweating nervously.

Ricky took Eli's pillow and ripped the case off of it. A silver chain and charm fell from the bottom of the pillow case and onto the floor. "Aha!" Ricky cried, picking up the chain as if it were a winning lottery ticket. The burly man stood, panting from his search, and looked around the room with a self-satisfied smile on his face. He looked at Eli and the poor boy was shaking in fear, staring at the floorboards.

Ricky held the chain in front of Eli's face and dangled it like he was gloating. "You wanna explain this one?" he asked.

Eli was silent. He chanced a look at the counselor and lowered his eyes quickly the minute he saw the man's vicious stare.

"No need," Ricky said, winding the chain into his palm. He turned to leave, and called out as he went, "Anderson, Markowitz, Snyder . . ." he stopped in the doorway and whipped around, "and Mayer. Follow me." Ricky exited after giving his charges one last look.

The boys looked at each other before moving. Luke placed his hand on Eli's shoulder to reassure him, but his friend only shook like a leaf. Paul led the way and Eli and Luke followed him. Noah trailed behind. Luke let himself fall back a step and brushed his fingers against Noah's slightly as they had done earlier that morning. Noah surprised Luke by taking his hand in his and squeezing it gently.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," Noah whispered to himself, "I fear no evil."

They parted hands as they walked into the hazy daylight of the camp. Luke followed his friends to the clearing of the row of cabins. Pastor John was there, hands folded neatly behind his back. Charles stood next to him, standing slightly behind the man as if the Pastor were protecting him. Luke watched as Andy was being led up the hill to the clearing by Mr. Anderson, Paul's father. Luke felt as if he and his friend's were about to face a firing squad, all for a simple piece of jewelry.

"Boys, stand in a line and face the Pastor," Ricky said.

They did as they were told. Andy was placed next to Eli at the opposite end of the line from Luke. He looked over at his friends, his eyes worried.

"Eyes forward!" Ricky snapped.

The boys looked at the Pastor, waiting for something to happen. Ricky joined Mr. Anderson as he stood by Pastor John, and the three counselors plus Charles stared at the supposed delinquents. Ricky handed the Pastor the necklace he had found in Eli's pillowcase.

Pastor John looked at the necklace in his hands and sighed. He slowly walked over to Andy, the necklace dangling between his fingers. He stood before the boy who had orchestrated the plan to get Eli's necklace back. Andy stared at him, seemingly not intimidated.

Pastor John stared at Andy as though he were a child needing to be taught a lesson. "Do you know what they did to thieves in the Old Testament?"

Andy remained silent.

"They put people to death," Pastor John said. He smiled slightly. "Now, some passages suggest that the thief work off his debt of the stolen item." He looked around at the boys, who stood silently, their eyes forward. "In some countries today," the Pastor went on, looking at Andy, "they'd cut off your hand."

Pastor John grabbed Andy's wrist and pulled him out of line. He rasied his hand and slapped Andy across the face, striking him so hard, the boy cried out and stumbled to the ground.

"Hey!" Luke yelled, stepping forward.

"'He that loveth his son causeth him oft to feel the rod,'" Pastor John said, turning from Andy and walking to Luke, "'that he may have joy of him in the end.'"

Luke glared icily at the Pastor's calm, cool face. He took a step back and placed himself in the lineup again.

"Now," Pastor John said, turning his back to the boys. "It seems there's been a conspiracy afoot." He turned sharply and looked at the campers again. "And it seems all of you are a part of it."

Luke looked at Charles briefly. The man's eyes were low, staring at the ground, and his hands were placed humbly at his front.

"Please," Eli said suddenly, "it's all my fault, I told them to do it."

The Pastor smiled at Eli. He looked around at the faces in line. "Is this true?" he asked. "Did he force you to help him, or are you all gonna be heroes today and sat that Eli is lying?"

"It isn't true," Noah said. "We _wanted_ to help him."

"Eli didn't even know anything about it," Luke said, "he's the innocent one in this."

Pastor John nodded slowly. "So," he said. "You're all going to be heroes, then." He folded his hands behind his back again and looked at the boys. "If there is anyone here who _didn't_ help Markowitz, please step forward so as not to be punished."

No one moved. Andy went back to his place in line on shaking knees and stood straight, holding the place where the Pastor had struck him.

The Pastor looked at the boys in surprise, expecting at least one of them to chicken out and claim innocence.

"Which one of you little bastards put peanuts in my food?" Ricky asked, taking a step towards the boys.

Pastor John held out his hand to stop Ricky from charging at the boys. "Easy Rick," he said, "all in good time."

"I'm so disappointed in you, Paul," Mr. Anderson said to his son, shaking his head.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat," Paul said.

Pastor John turned to Mr. Anderson. "Don, you have my permission to take Paul out of the program for the rest of the summer."

"That won't be necessary," Mr. Anderson said, looking at his son. "My boy's gonna learn a lesson or two during the rest of the summer."

The Pastor nodded. "Very well," he said. "Paul, follow your father to the detention center."

Paul hesitated. He moved forward and turned to his friends as they stood in the lineup. "It's been fun," he said.

Luke swallowed hard as he watched Paul go with his father. He felt, for whatever reason, he would never see his friend again. A pinprick of fear struck Luke's gut as he wondered what his punishment would be, especially now that he had managed to piss off the executioner early that morning.

Pastor John turned to Charles. "Is it true Markowitz had no idea about it?"

Charles lifted his hooded gaze, briefly looking at Eli before nodding. "Yeah, that's right," he said.

Luke stared daggers at Charles, his every suspicion now viciously confirmed that Charles was the one who ratted them all out.

"Markowitz," Pastor John said, "you're on probation the rest of the summer. Two weeks in the detention center, plus ten hours of labor per day, with an hour of Bible study and fifteen minute breaks for meals."

Luke watched as Eli let out a sob and put a hand to his face.

"Please go to the detention center where a counselor will be waiting for you," the Pastor said.

Eli pulled himself out of line and sniffled. He turned to his friends, his face pleading for forgiveness when Charles was the one to blame for everything. "I'm sorry!" he said, walking backwards down the hill towards the detention center. "I'm so sorry!"

When he was gone, Pastor John faced the lineup again, the gaps of the missing boys like a mouth of missing teeth. He motioned towards Andy. "Andrew, you're banished from this facility," he said.

Andy pursed his lips, tears welling in his eyes. He closed his eyes tightly at the Pastor's words, almost certain this sentence meant the end of his life.

"You'll be escorted into town by one of our counselors where you'll be conditioned to notify your parents."

At the mention of the word 'parents,' Andy opened his eyes and shook his head. "Please," he said. He moved to the Pastor, his eyes begging for mercy. "I can't go home," he said. "They won't let me!"

"Ricky, take him to the main lodge," Pastor John said.

Ricky took Andy by the arm, and the reality of the situation finally sunk in. Andy twisted to get away, his face contorted in pain and anguish as he cried. "If you send me back, I'm as good as dead!" Andy screamed as Ricky pulled him away. "I'm as good as dead!" Andy struggled to get away from Ricky and turned to the rest of his friend's at the lineup.

"Wait!" Luke yelled. He ran to Andy.

"Snyder, get back in your place!" Pastor John yelled.

Andy managed to twist away from Ricky's grasp for a split second, allowing Luke to pull him close in a tight, farewell hug.

"Find my family," he whispered into Andy's ear. "Tell them I'm here. They live in Oakdale, Holden and Lily Snyder—"

Ricky grabbed a hold of Andy's arm again and ripped him away from Luke. Andy stared at Luke as he was being led away, nodding at him slightly in mutual understanding. Luke fell back in line, and Andy's cries of desperation had all since stopped.

Pastor John moved towards the remaining boys, Luke and Noah, and paced in front of them. "You two," he said. This part of the speech he seemed to have failed to memorize by heart. He looked at Noah, paused slightly before him, then walked to Luke and stared intently at him.

"What'll it be for us, John?" Luke said. "The rack? Chinese water torture?"

The Pastor smiled at Luke slightly. "There you go again, Snyder," he said. "So confident and sure of yourself." He turned to Charles. "Go a fetch Russell and Tim from the main lodge," he said.

Charles turned quickly without looking up and sprinted down the hill towards the lodge. Pastor John turned back to Luke. He looked at Eli's chain that was still in his hand and threw it to the ground.

"I can live with theft," the Pastor said. "I can live with being double-crossed behind my back." He paused, and glanced over a Noah. "But what I can't _stand_," the Pastor whispered to Luke, "Is a pervert like you converting someone like Noah to your sick ways."

Noah looked at Luke. Luke stared at the Pastor, his gut dropping to his knees. _He knows_, he thought. _Oh my God, he knows_.

"What are you talking about?" Luke asked.

"Don't play dumb!" Pastor John screamed in his face. He took a breath to steady himself. "One of our campers saw you two . . . kissing . . . over there," he pointed to the edge of the clearing where Noah and Luke had, indeed, kissed in the rain.

Luke quickly glanced at Noah, who was staring at him with a sort of desperation in his eyes, completely at a loss as to what to do. Pastor John turned from Luke and faced Noah. They stared each other down.

"Now I'm gonna ask you this once," the Pastor said. "Did you kiss Luke Snyder?"

Noah's eyes slowly traveled to Luke, and Luke shook his head, no. Noah locked eyes with the Pastor again and held his head high. "Yes," he said, "It's true."

"He's lying!" Luke cried. "I made him kiss me, I forced him—"

"That's not true," Noah said, still staring at Pastor John. "I kissed him—"

"We kissed each other!" Luke yelled.

"_Enough_!" Pastor John screamed. He looked over his shoulder as Charles came back to the clearing with two other counselors from the main lodge. "You're both in violation of one of the most heinous offenses at this camp." Pastor John looked at the two boys. "Luke, you'll be placed in the isolation cabin until I see fit to let you go."

"Please!" Noah said. "Don't punish Luke, it was all my fault—"

"Noah," the Pastor said, looking at the tall, blue-eyed young man. "The person I'm most disappointed in is you." Pastor John turned to the men behind him. "Take him to the basement of the main lodge—"

"Not there!" Noah yelled.

"Bring Luke to the isolation cabin," Pastor John said, ignoring Noah, "and make sure to double-bolt it."

"You can't do this!" Luke cried. "This isn't his fault, I forced him!"

"Take them!" Pastor John said to the other counselors.

An older counselor with thinning hair grabbed Luke's arms. "Let go of me!" Luke yelled.

"Don't touch him!" Noah cried, pulling the man away. He held Luke close by the shoulders and touched his forehead to his. "Luke . . ."

"Don't forget who you are," Luke said, shaking his head. "Whatever they do to you, don't forget who you are!"

They were separated again by the counselors dragging them away by their arms. Luke and Noah struggled as though they were two wrongly-diagnosed insane patients being taken off to the asylum.

Luke looked at Charles as they hauled him off, forcing the boy to look at him with his intense eyes. "Charles, you son of a _bitch_!" he sobbed.

Charles raised his head slightly and looked at Luke, the guilt of his actions washing over him. He closed his eyes and lowered his head again.

Noah went quietly, his heart beating a mile a minute. He trembled all the way to the main lodge where he would be led to the basement, the _oubliette_, and felt the pain of Luke's cries tearing his soul away.

**To be continued**


	11. Insanity

"You can't do this," Nurse Joyce said. She followed the Pastor through the door of the sick ward to the hallway as he held Ryan by his arm. Pastor John was leading him to another room in the building. "He's too fragile right now—for God's sake, he's in the process of grieving!"

"Grieving for his gay lover, no less," the Pastor said, not looking at her as he led a blank-faced Ryan down the hall.

"He was still a _person_!" Joyce cried. "Jesus taught us to love all—"

"Well, until Jesus comes down here to tell me how it's done," Pastor John mumbled, "Mr. LaToure here still needs to be punished for his collaboration with Snyder and his little band of thieves."

"Then send him home!" Joyce said, following the Pastor as he led Ryan around the corner. "Let his parent's deal with him, they wouldn't blame us for what happened—"

Pastor John turned suddenly and faced the older woman. "That's where you're wrong, Joyce. We're always held responsible, _especially_ when it comes to their children." He turned and continued walking with his charge. "The shepherd has let his flock stray." Pastor John stopped in front of a door and held his hand out to Joyce. "Give me the keys," he said.

Nurse Joyce put her hand over her pocket and shook her head slightly. "No," she whispered.

Pastor John looked at her calmly, his patience just barely running thin. "Joyce, give me the keys."

"It'll all come back around," Ryan muttered.

"What?" Pastor John said, pulling on Ryan's wrist.

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the annoyed Pastor and stared straight in his eyes with a numb, emotionless gaze. "It'll all come back around," he repeated.

"Joyce, give me the keys _right_ now!"

Nurse Joyce jumped at the anger in his voice. In all her years at the camp, she had never seen Pastor John so angry, so vengeful. It shook her to her core to think that a man who had been so kind and patient when he first arrived would turn into such a monster. Joyce slowly reached in the front pocket of her nurse's coat and held the keys out. Pastor John snatched them away from her fingers.

"I'm sorry," Joyce said, looking at Ryan. She shook her head as the sullen, blank-faced boy stared at her with all the sadness of the world swimming in his green eyes. "I'm so sorry, honey."

Ryan gave her a weak smile and a quick nod to let the woman know that he understood. Pastor John unlocked the heavy white door and opened it up to a room no bigger than an average jail cell. Its walls and ceiling were completely white. There was no window on either blank wall, save for the plain wooden crucifix hanging above the white mattress in the corner. On the opposite end of the room, across from the mattress, a small, tan port-a-potty sat by itself. It reminded Ryan of the kind of training toilet toddlers used.

Ryan surveyed the room before being thrust into it by Pastor John, and came to the conclusion that it looked like a room they would put a crazy person with a straight jacket. Padded walls. Endless white. A place to go insane.

Ryan stood in the middle of the room and looked at the Pastor in the doorway, his warden. "I forgive you," he said.

Without another word, Pastor John slammed the door shut on Ryan, leaving the boy in the small room. He locked the door and turned to a horrified Joyce. "Check on him every hour. Bring him water in a Styrofoam cup—no sharp objects."

"How long are you going to keep him in there?" Nurse Joyce asked.

The Pastor put the keys in his pocket and sighed. He seemed exhausted, as if his trying day would never end. "As long as it takes," he said.

0000000

"Psst!"

Eli ignored the voice trying to get his attention. He continued scrubbing the pot as he stood in the kitchen of the mess hall. A stack of messy dishes stared at him near the washbasin, waiting to be cleaned after tonight's dinner.

"Psst!" the voice hissed again. "Hey, Eli!"

Eli finally turned his head to the voice and saw Fred Larrabee, a camper from the south cabins, sticking his head in the swing door of the kitchen. Eli looked over his shoulder as the head chef scrubbed his work station with a sponge.

"Go away," Eli whispered, "I'll get in trouble."

"Hey, is it true about Snyder and Mayer?" Fred asked. His young faced anxiously peered at Eli, begging for the hot gossip.

"What are they telling you?" Eli asked, rinsing a baking sheet.

"They say Mayer and Snyder got caught locking lips last night," Fred whispered.

Eli looked at him. "You serious?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Fred said, smiling slightly. "They got Snyder in isolation and Mayer's been tossed in the _oubliette_."

"_What_?" Eli cried.

"Hey!" The head chef heard their voices and yelled out for Fred to take a hike.

"Gotta split!" Fred said, disappearing behind the swinging door.

"Markowitz!" The hairy, mustached chef called out. "Get the mop back here when you're done with those dishes, will ya?"

Eli looked at his never-ending pile of dishes and sighed. The other counselors who were supposed to help clean had been given leave by order of Pastor John so Eli could do their dirty work. As Eli continued to rinse and scrub, he heard the other counselors in the back room, laughing as they played cards.

0000000

The basement was colder than Noah had expected. It was also cleaner and brighter than he had imagined, not necessarily the dark and hollow dungeon he had pictured from hearing so many stories from the other campers. The beams of the rafters were covered in cobwebs and the cement floor was cold and hard, but the cinderblock walls were painted a calming blue and there was even a television in the corner, the first Noah had seen during his stay at the camp.

As Noah sat at the desk in the middle of the room, waiting for a counselor to arrive, he heard a noise in the next room. Noah went over and peeked through the thin, skeleton envelope with plasterboard that served as a wall between this room and the next. It felt like this wall was stuck in here at the last minute to separate the basement into two or more rooms.

Noah heard the noise again, louder this time, and could make out the small, whimpering voice of another boy. He looked through a chipped hole in the plasterboard and saw a young boy lying on a mattress in the middle of his box of a room, curled up with his back to Noah. He was crying. The boy raised his head to wipe his eyes and Noah recognized the young man as the boy who had tried to escape earlier last week.

Suddenly, the door to the basement opened and Noah could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. He quickly went back to his seat at the desk and placed his hands on the table top.

Ricky entered the room quickly. When he saw Noah at the desk, he smiled slightly, as if to say, 'I know what you're all about.' Noah swallowed hard and looked at his hands. Ricky walked towards him slowly, a predator stalking a smaller animal. He moved around the table and stood before Noah. Noah slowly looked up at the man. Ricky let out a laugh and shook his head at Noah.

"You were the one who put peanuts in my food, boy."

Noah breathed out as though he had been holding his breath all afternoon. He nodded and continued looking at Ricky, trying not to be intimidated. "Sorry," he said.

Ricky's smile faded into a frown. "Not as sorry as I'm gonna be," he said. Ricky grabbed Noah by the collar of his shirt and forced him to his feet. He put his hand into a fist and punched Noah square in the gut. Noah doubled over and let out a quick grunt at the force of the blow. Ricky pushed him back onto his chair and Noah leaned across the table, gasping for breath and relief from the man's punch.

Ricky cracked his knuckles and turned away towards the door to the stairs. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said, "I have to go pray for absolution."

As Ricky opened the door to exit, Pastor John entered from the other side. The two men brushed past each other. Ricky said something to the Pastor before leaving, and Pastor John looked at Noah. He closed the door and stood on the other end of the table.

Noah slowly looked up at the man who sentenced him to this place, a man he was sure would bring him even more pain to come. The man smiled at him cordially.

"Let's talk, Noah," he said.

0000000

Luke looked up at the single naked light bulb in his cabin on the hill. He got up from his cot that sat in the corner and paced the small room.

"_I could have danced all night_," he sang softly, "_I could have danced all night_ . . ."

He tried the windows but they were painted shut. Luke looked out at the darkening evening sky. " . . . _and still have begged for more_ . . ."

The tray of food a counselor had brought in earlier remained untouched by the bolted door. Luke knocked on the wooden planks of his cabin walls and continued pacing the room. "_I could have spread my wings_," he sang louder, "_and done a thousand things, I've never done before_ . . ."

Getting an idea, Luke spit into his hands and rubbed the wetness in his hair, teasing it so it would stand up. He looked at his reflection in the mirror as he styled his hair and sung louder. "_I only know when he_ . . . _began to dance with me_ . . .!"

Luke rolled the sleeves of his polo shirt up until his shoulders were visible. He wondered if this was what it was like to go insane. He banged on the door of his lone cabin as he sang the rest of the number. "_I could have danced_ . . . _danced_ . . . _danced_ . . .!"

Luke heard the door being locked and stepped away from it. Theresa entered with a baffled look on her face. "What in the world are you doing, Luke?" she cried.

Luke flounced on his cot and lay back with his arm under his head. "I'm singing!" he said. "Isn't it obvious?"

"What have you done with your hair?" she asked, pointing to him.

"Do you like it?" Luke asked. "I figured, since I'm locked in here like a dog, I might as well break a few more camp rules. What's a few more, right Tess?" he asked.

Theresa took a step towards him with her hand raised. "Luke, I'm—"

Luke sat up and put his hand out to her. "Don't get too close," he said, "you'll break the 'safety zone,' remember? Although, since you're a girl, it probably doesn't matter right?"

Theresa closed her gaping mouth and lowered her hand. In her few years at the camp, she had never witnessed a camper as distraught as Luke. Most campers placed in the isolation bunk held their heads low until it was time for them to be released. Luke seemed content to be a burden.

"Hell," Luke continued, "maybe I should just make out with you right here and now. You think that'll get me out of this place?"

Theresa lowered her eyes. She turned slightly and saw the untouched food by the door. "You haven't eaten," she said.

Luke lay back in his bed and said in a softer, calmer tone, "I'm not hungry."

Theresa turned back to him. "You haven't eaten all day," she said.

Luke shrugged. "What do you care?" he asked. "If I starve to death, that's one less faggot for you to worry about, right?"

"Luke, you know I don't think that—"

"Please get out," Luke said, turning his head away from her. When she didn't move, Luke sat up. "I said get out!" he yelled.

Theresa jumped at his voice and slowly backed away. She took the tray of uneaten food from the ground and carried it with her out the door. "Pastor John will be in to see you soon," she said.

Luke raised his eyebrows in mock excitement. "Yipee," he said, twirling his finger around. When Theresa was gone and he heard the deadbolt being locked again, Luke lay back in his cot and put his arm over his eyes.

"_I could have spread my wings_," he sang slowly to himself, "_and done a thousand things_ . . ." He tried to keep his voice from cracking as hot, stinging tears climbed up his throat in a vain attempt to reach his eyes. He sniffed his tears away and tried his hardest not to imagine Noah in an even worse situation than him.

0000000

"This isn't a hard question, Noah," Pastor John said as he sat on the opposite side of Noah at the desk in the middle of the room. "A simple yes is what I'm looking for." He positioned his pen above the legal pad on the desk and waited for the boy to give in to his question.

Noah remained silent. He stared at his hands on the desk and rubbed the pad of his thumb over his fingernail. "Can I see Luke?" he asked.

Pastor John sighed heavily. He threw his pen on the table and sat back in his chair. "Absolutely not," he said.

"What about Eli?" Noah asked. "And Ryan, what did you do with him?"

"We're not talking about that right now, Noah," the Pastor said, leaning in again. "We're talking about you." He clicked his pen open again. "Now tell me, yes or no—are you a homosexual?"

"What does it matter if I tell you?" Noah asked. "It's just a word. It's just something we use to label someone else like tall, short, good, bad—"

"This is important for your recovery," Pastor John said. "If you can admit your problem, we'll have a better chance of helping you."

"My _problem_," Noah said, rolling his eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Pastor John set his pen down again and let out a light laugh. "Really?" he asked. "You think you're so innocent?" He stood and paced the length of the table. "Well, you know what, Noah?" he asked, pointing to his charge. "I think you're innocent, too."

"Really?" Noah asked, feigning interest. He knew this was just another game the Pastor was playing with him.

"Really," Pastor John said. "You came here as a self-professed straight man, am I right? You're a good student, you don't do drugs, you have friends . . . so how has it come to this?" The Pastor spread his arms out to indicate the size and appearance of the room. "Don't you see, Noah?" he asked. "I want to help you. I want you to get back on the path of goodness so you don't have to deal with the pain of this harmful lifestyle—AIDS, ostracism, and perversion."

Noah closed his eyes as the Pastor counted the so-called cons of homosexuality on his fingers. He thought about Luke. He thought about their kiss in the rain and how happy it had made him feel, how alive and wonderful to have someone to watch over and care for him. Noah didn't see any perversion in Luke—all he saw was love, and the possibility of being loved. He didn't see how any of that could ever be wrong.

Noah opened his eyes as the Pastor slammed his hand down on the tabletop. "Noah," he said with his jaw clenched. "Just tell me the truth—are you a homosexual?"

Noah sighed. He knew that by telling the truth, he would be in even more trouble than if he were to say what the Pastor wanted him to say. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I just fell in love."

Pastor John sat back in his chair. He folded his hands neatly on the desk and looked at Noah with a cool sort of gaze. "I can see you're going to be difficult about this," he said.

0000000

Later that night, Noah was brought to an adjoining room in the basement where he would sleep. It was a small area with a cot and a bathroom on the other side of one of the walls—not a bad setup, considering what Noah had been expecting. When the lights went out and a stream of moonlight shone in through the windows near the ceiling, Noah lay back in his cot and sighed.

_Don't forget who you are_, Luke had said.

Noah knew he was the one who had gotten them in this mess. He never should have given in to his desires, never should have kissed Luke, no matter how much the urge burned inside of him. He should have let sleeping dogs lay, so to speak, and ridden his feelings out until the end of the summer.

But still . . . the feeling of protecting Luke, of pulling him back from his attempt at running away had been an eye-opening experience. It was as though he had been in a coma his whole life, and Luke's kiss was what had awoken him in this odd, modern-day fairytale.

Noah closed his eyes and felt himself smile when he thought of Luke being next to him, holding his hand in the simplest gesture of affection. His smile was gone just as quickly, however, when he thought of Luke locked up in the isolation cabin. Were they trying to break him as they were trying to break Noah? Was Luke being his usual self and causing trouble for everyone?

_Whatever they do to you_, Luke had said, _don't forget who you are._

"'The time to hesitate is through,'" a voice sang on the other side of the wall. "'No time to wallow in the mire . . .'"

Noah sat up on his cot and pressed his ear to the thin plasterboard of the wall to better hear the voice on the other end.

"'Try now we can only lose,'" the young, boyish voice sang in monotone. "'And our loves becomes a funeral pyre . . .'"

Noah felt around the wall until his fingertips brushed against a small hole. He peered through the chipped, dime-sized hole and saw the same boy he had seen earlier on his own cot, rolling his head back and forth and singing. The boy somehow spotted him looking and smiled upside down at Noah.

"'Come on baby,'" he sang, "'light my fire!'"

The boy burst out laughing and rolled over onto his stomach. He crawled over to the hole where Noah was looking. Noah scooted back as the figure in the moonlight came closer. He looked about fifteen or so, with messy hair and wandering eyes.

"Who's there?" the boy called.

Noah peered through the hole from a distance. "New roommate," he said. "I'm Noah."

The boy looked at Noah through the hole, sticking his eye almost directly over it. Noah watched with a surprised sort of discomfort as the boy's eye looked him up and down. "Ohh," the kid said. "You're cute. Wadda ya in for? Must've been pretty bad to be down here."

Noah let out a laugh and drew his knees up to his chest. "I kissed a boy in my cabin," he said. He pointed to the wandering eyes. "You're that kid who tried to escape, right?"

The kid on the other end laughed. "'Tried' being the operative word." He paused, his blue eye blinking slowly. "I'm Chase," he said.

Noah smiled slightly. The boys were silent for a moment until Chase's eye disappeared from the hole. Noah heard him sit with his back to the wall. "You like The Doors, Noah?" he asked.

Noah sat against the wall and realized their backs might have been touching were it not for the thin piece of plasterboard between them. "Can't say I've ever really listened to them," he said. "Is that what you were singing?"

Chase laughed loudly, louder than Noah would have liked. "You're funny, Noah," he said. "You're like a Martian."

Noah chuckled. "Well, thanks," he said.

"So what'd they do to the other guy?" Chase asked.

"What other guy?"

"You know," Chase said, "the one you kissed."

"Oh," Noah said, frowning at the thought. "They put him in the isolation cabin."

Chase whistled. "Lucky him," he said. There was a moment of silence on Chase's end. Noah heard him bang the back of his head on the wall. "Did they shock you yet?"

"What?" Noah asked. He didn't understand the question.

"Don't worry," Chase said. "They will . . . they always do." He voice trailed off into incoherent mumblings. "They'll break ya that way . . . fry you up a bit, toss ya in the bath—"

"Chase?" Noah called.

Suddenly, Chase's searching eye appeared at the hole again. He spotted the disturbed Noah and stared at him. "Do you know what to do if you're stuck in the belly of a beast?"

Noah furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn't tell if this boy was kidding or offering him a riddle to pass the time . . . or, if he was just insane. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Like," Chase said, "if a bear swallows you whole, you should always have a knife with you so you can _cut_ yourself out from its guts!" Chase yelled the word 'cut' and Noah jumped.

Noah tried to make sense of the boy's ramblings. Was he this crazy before coming down to the _oubliette_, or had this place made him insane? Noah didn't want to think about the answer. He didn't want to believe he could lose his sanity so easily.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, Noah," Chase said, his eye disappearing from the hole. "I'm gonna cut myself out of here!" He let out a long, rolling laugh. Noah watched through the hole as the boy rolled on his bed, giddy with laughter. He stuck his fist in the air. "'Come on, baby, light my _fire_!'"

Chase's laughter went on. Noah lay back in his cot and put his pillow over his head to block out the maniacal giggling of his next door neighbor. He fell asleep to the words of The Doors' song circling his head.

_Come on, baby, light my fire . . ._

**To be continued**


	12. Proposition

At around nine the next morning, Eli wiped the sweat forming on his brow and pounded another nail into the shingle on the roof of his former cabin. The sun was still low in the sky and a cool breeze drifted towards him from the lake, but still Eli found himself wishing he could at least take his stifling, cotton shirt off to escape the heat of his hard work. He licked the salty sweat from his upper lip and took another nail from the bucket by his side.

"Hey, Eli!" a voice called to him from below.

Eli peered over the edge of the roof at the person just a few feet below. His former bunkmate, Trevor, waved at him on the stairs of the cabin.

"Hey, Trevor!" Eli called back. "Aren't you supposed to be in mass with the rest of the robots?"

"Believe me, man," Trevor said, leaning on the railing of the steps. "I'd rather be up there doing meaningless work than listen to another one of Pastor John's little ditties."

"How 'bout you make yourself useful, then, and get me a glass of water?" Eli asked.

"Can't," Trevor said, "I'm here for Charles."

Eli pounded another nail in a loose shingle with his hammer and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked over at Trevor again. "He's not here," Eli said. "I thought he went to mass with you guys?"

"That's what we thought, too," Trevor said. "But he slipped out during hymnals and now we can't find him."

"Maybe he did us all a favor and jumped off the nearest building," Eli said under his breath. He banged another nail into the roof and threw his hammer aside. "I'd kill for a sip of water."

"Suck it up, Nancy," Trevor said with a laugh. "You got off easy compared to Luke and Noah."

"Have you heard anything about them?" Eli asked, scooter closer towards the edge of the roof to better see Trevor. "What about Ryan, where's he?"

Trevor shrugged. "I don't know, man," he said. "You'll have to wait it out like the rest of us." He paused, staring at his feet. "In my opinion . . . it doesn't look good for them."

"Yeah," Eli said with a snort, "and we have Charles to thank for that."

"They have _themselves_ to thank for that, Markowitz," Trevor said. "Or have you so easily forgotten the rules?"

Eli shook his head. He picked up the hammer again and took out a nail to pound on another loose shingle. "I haven't forgotten the rules," Eli said. "But the fact that we're so afraid of them is what pisses me off the most about this place." He slammed the hammer down on the head of the nail once, twice, three times in a row until the nail was driven fully in. "I wish you could hear yourself talk, Trevor," he said over his hammering. He turned to his friend below and looked at him. "You're already turning into one of _them_."

"I'm doing what I have to to survive in this place," Trevor said.

"Yeah?" Eli asked, staring at his friend. "And then what?"

Trevor pursed his lips as he looked at Eli. "If you see Charles," he said, "let him know we're looking for him."

Eli picked up the hammer again and made a fake saluting gesture as his friend walked away towards the main lodge. "Whatever you say, boss," he said. He turned and took another nail from the bucket, pounding it into the roof until it was all the way in, pounding until his face got hot and his chest heaved.

0000000

Luke awoke to the sound of someone opening his door. He sat up in his cot and watched as Theresa entered with a tray of food. "Rise and shine," she said with a chipper smile on her face.

Luke turned over and threw the covers over his head. He wasn't about to pretend to be cheery when he was locked in this damn cabin like an animal. The smell of his warm breakfast made his stomach rumble, but Luke covered up the sound by coughing.

"Come one, Luke," Theresa said, as if his attitude were all a game. She walked over to him with the tray of food in her hand and shook his shoulder. "You must be starving. There's eggs and toast and—"

Luke surprised Theresa by ripping his covers off and sitting up. He took the tray from her hands, and just as a small, victorious smile came over the young woman's face, Luke took the tray and threw it at the door. Theresa yelped and jumped back at Luke's force. His breakfast splattered on the surface of the door—eggs, milk, even the jam for his toast painted the door like a poor man's Pollock.

Luke looked at the wide-eyed Theresa. "I'm not eating until I see Noah," he said. He turned in his cot and pulled the covers over his head again. "You can tell Pastor John I'd rather starve than play by the rules."

Theresa nodded as though Luke could see her. She slowly walked out of the cabin, not bothering to clean up the mess Luke made. When Luke heard the door being locked, he felt hot tears welling in his eyes, aching to be released as he thought about Noah, about being locked away and separated from him and so, so far away from home . . .

Luke wiped his eyes and sniffled. He let his wave of hurt pass over him, turning himself into stone for the tide of despair to move around him. He needed to be strong for when he saw Noah again. There was no room for weakness when he was already frail from hunger.

0000000

Noah looked at the clock on the wall near the television in the corner of the basement. 10:45am. Pastor John had been sitting at the other side of the table for a good fifteen minutes without saying a word. The man only crossed his hands on the tabletop and looked at Noah—no anger, no frustration on his face. He only stared with a calm sort of determination, the same look he made during mass when he preached what he truly thought was the gospel of the Lord.

Noah cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. "So," he said, "is this like some sort of new therapy?" He knew he was taking a risk by opening his mouth, but the uncomfortable silence grated him to his bones until Noah could no longer take it anymore.

"Is there something in particular you'd like to talk about?" the Pastor asked gently.

Noah sighed. "No," he said. "For the last time, I want to see Luke."

"You know that's impossible," Pastor John said.

"Then I guess we're going to be sitting in silence for a long time," Noah said, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands in his lap.

The Pastor smiled and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his chin and shook his head. Pastor John threw up his hands when he realized Noah was being serious about the silence. "Well, I'm about at the end of my rope," he said, standing. He paced the room as he rubbed his chin. "Obviously, talking isn't working. And if I simply let you out of here, I might be doing more harm than good—"

"Why do you _care_ so much?" Noah asked. "Even if you were to let me out, Luke will still be locked up and there would be no risk of us being together. I though you'd be thrilled at the idea."

The Pastor whipped around with his hand on his chin and smiled at his charge. "I'm in the business of saving your soul, Noah. My main concern right now is if your little fling with Luke was just an impulse or . . . something more." He eyed the boy up and down.

Noah closed his gaping mouth and stared at his hands. "I . . . I don't know," he muttered.

"You don't know?" Pastor John asked. He sat back in his chair and scooted closer to the table. "This is progress—tell me more."

Noah held his hand up to the Pastor. "Don't do that," he said, shaking his head. "I knew what I was doing with Luke, don't try and make me feel confused about it."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said!" Noah cried. "I _wanted_ to kiss Luke!"

"But did you want to kiss other boys before coming here, Noah?" Pastor John asked.

Noah swallowed hard. "No," he said flatly.

"So you admit you never had homosexual thoughts before coming here—"

"I don't _know_!" Noah yelled, standing. "I don't know what to think anymore, I don't know what's right or wrong and I don't know what you want from me!"

"I just want the truth, Noah," Pastor John said in a soft voice.

Noah blinked at the Pastor. He slowly sat back down in his chair. "The truth is, I'm in love with Luke." He looked at the man on the other side of the table with all the sincerity and genuineness in the world. "And no matter how badly you want me to admit I'm gay, no matter how much you want to save me, I can't change how I feel."

Pastor John stared at Noah in a way that made him believe, for a split second, the man might actually have known how he felt. For a brief, fleeting moment, Noah believed he had actually gotten through to the man.

A small smile cracked the stern face of the Pastor. He placed his hands on the table again and leaned closer to Noah. "You say you're in love with Luke," he said.

Noah nodded. "Yes."

Pastor John gave Noah a nod. "Would you say you'd do anything for him?"

"Like what?" Noah asked.

Pastor John sat up in his chair. "What if I told you, I'd let Luke go home if you agreed to stay?"

Noah stared at the Pastor. It must have been another trick, a way for him to get Noah to sign his soul away at the expense of his feelings. "I don't under—"

Pastor John stood from the table again, his smile growing wider. "Luke's been a thorn in my side since he got here," he said, pacing the room, "It'd be a shame to see him go, considering how undisciplined he is, but if it means I could work with you more closely, it's a move I'd be willing to live with."

"Well, what about his family?" Noah asked. "I mean, they're the ones who sent him here, what will they say if you just send him home after a little more than a week?"

Pastor John shrugged as he paced. "We'll simply tell them Luke isn't right for this program and offer them a refund for their services."

Noah shook his hand. "You're losing me, I'm not sure I—"

"Noah, I'm going to be honest with you," Pastor John said, turning to his charge, "I think you're a very special person. I think you have great potential to be something other than what your hormones are telling you to be." He sat in the chair and leaned in to Noah, excited about his proposition. "I feel there _is_ a way to get you back on the right path, but it's going to require some . . . cooperation on your part."

Noah looked at the Pastor's wild, hopeful eyes. He looked like a man who had just gotten a message from God on how to serve out his purpose, a man who finally knew how to walk his path. "So you're telling me," Noah said, "that if I agree to let you work with me more intensely, you'll let Luke go home?"

Pastor John nodded. "That's the idea," he said, smiling. "All we need is a signature."

_A signature?_ Noah thought. Maybe he really _was_ trying to buy Noah's soul with the promise of letting Luke out of this place. The idea made him nervous—what kind of work would they be doing on him if they needed a signature to do it? Still, if it meant Luke could finally go home, Noah knew he couldn't say no.

Noah pointed to the Pastor. "And you _swear_ you'll let Luke out of here if I agree to sign whatever it is you want me to sign?" he asked.

Pastor John held up his hand as a pledge of honest. "I swear," he said.

"Do you swear to God?" Noah asked.

Pastor John's smile grew wider. "I swear to God, I'll let Luke go home."

Noah pursed his lips. He pushed all of his anxiety, all of his fear and all of his questions to the back of his mind. All he could think about was the prospect of getting out at the end of the summer and seeing Luke at his home, unspoiled by the dogma of the camp. If Noah could hold out long enough to keep his own integrity, he knew the wait would be worth it in the end.

"Okay," Noah said, nodded. "I'll do it."

Pastor John's smile exploded in a teeth-baring grin. "I'll get the paperwork," he said. He stood and headed for the door. Just as the Pastor was about to leave, Ricky came bursting into the room, out of breath and in a state of panic.

"Sir! You have to come quick, there's a situation!"

"What's wrong?" the Pastor asked him.

"It's Charles!" Ricky cried. "He's on the roof, he's threatening to jump!"

"_What_?" Pastor John yelled.

He ran out the door, yelling back at Noah to stay put. Ricky followed him and locked the door behind him. The two men raced up the stairs and followed the commotion outside to where most of the camp stood, staring up at the roof. Pastor John followed their gazes and saw Charles on the roof near the gabled window. The people around him gasped and pointed, afraid of what might happen.

"Holy shit, he's gonna do it!" a camper cried.

"Chuck, what're you doing?" another camper called out.

"I'll call an ambulance," Ricky said.

"No!" Pastor John yelled, pulling the man back by his arm. He looked up at the sobbing boy on the roof and took a few steps back in the crowd. "Make some room!" he cried to the other boys watching. The Pastor stared up at the child on the roof and felt his heart beating in his throat. "Charles!" he called out. "Come down from there!"

"I can't!" Charles cried back. "I deserve this!"

"No one deserves this, Charles, now come down before you hurt yourself!" Pastor John cried. He turned to Ricky and said in a lower voice, "Run and find Markowitz." He pushed the man away and Ricky was off.

"Sweetie, come down from there!" Nurse Joyce called out as she stood in the crowd. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I can't!" Charles cried. "I can't . . ."

"Charles," the Pastor yelled, "we can talk about this, now please come down."

"I have to do this!" Charles yelled. "I can't live with it anymore, I just . . ."

"We're here to help you!" Theresa cried out in the crowd.

At the sound of her voice, the entire crowd that was watching burst out in a chorus of pleas, all of them begging for Charles to come down so they wouldn't have to see him kill himself in front of them.

"I just want it to be over," Charles sobbed. He held his hands out like a bird getting ready to fly, like an angel ascending into heaven. The sun haloed his head in a clear blue sky. "I just want it to stop . . ."

"Charles!" Pastor John cried.

"Tell Noah I'm sorry!" Charles called.

"Charles, stop!" Eli yelled, running to the scene with Ricky.

"Eli, I'm sorry!" Charles yelled down upon seeing him. "I'm so sorry for what I did!"

"It's okay!" Eli cried, cupping his hands around his mouth to better yell up at the boy. "It's nothing to kill yourself over! Just come down from there and we can forget about everything, I promise!"

"You don't get it!" Charles screamed. "I can't forget it, I can't forget _anything_! I'll never be able to escape who I am as long as they keep telling me I' wrong!"

"We can help you!" Pastor John yelled. "That's all we've ever been trying to do!"

"You don't have the slightest _idea_ what you're doing!" Charles lashed at the Pastor. "You spout these ideas and these ways of thinking and you tell us we're all worthless—that the way we are will never be good enough for God!"

"Charles, this isn't the way!" Eli called out.

"This is the _only_ way!" Charles sobbed.

Pastor John looked towards the window where Charles stood near and saw Ricky reaching out to the boy from behind. The man had somehow slipped inside the building and made his way to the top floor when everyone's eyes were focused on the jumper.

"Charles . . . listen to me," Pastor John said, trying to buy time. "I know you're scared. I know you feel guilty for what you did, but you have to believe me when I say that we all care for you here." His eyes darted to Ricky as he man reached out further for Charles. "Think of your mother," the Pastor said. "She'd be heartbroken if her only child took his life."

Charles squeezed his eyes shut and he cried. He shook his head slowly, seemingly contemplating whether or not to go through with taking the plunge. He opened his eyes suddenly. "Eli, do you think Luke will ever forgive me?" he asked.

Eli nodded vigorously. "Of course he will," he called. "Which is why you should come down so you can talk to him when you're ready."

"Charles," Ricky called out gently, "take my hand."

Charles turned slowly, his body shaking and trembling from his tears. He took the counselor's hand and followed him back inside. The crowd heaved a collective sigh of relief. A few campers clapped while others burst into tears. Eli closed his eyes and fell to his knees, grateful for the ordeal to be over.

Pastor John remained silent, staring up at the roof as though the boy were still up there. He felt shaken to his core, terrified out of his mind that he might have possibly had a dead body at his camp. The thought filled him with rage, that a boy like him could mean the end of his career for being impulsive and melodramatic.

"Everyone, get back to your cabins!" Pastor John called out. He looked around at the stunned, unnerved faces of the campers. "Move it!" he yelled. The crowd began to disperse. Pastor John looked at Eli and pulled him up by his arm. "Get back to work!"

"But—"

"Now!" the Pastor screamed.

Eli looked at him before moving. He turned slowly and headed back to the mess hall where he had been commissioned to mop. Pastor John rubbed his face with a shaking hand and turned on his heels. He began walking towards the isolation cabin.

"Sir!" Theresa called after him. She followed close behind. "Where are you going?"

Pastor John whipped around suddenly and faced Theresa. "Is that Snyder boy still not eating?"

"I, uh . . ." Theresa stammered. The Pastor turned again and walked quickly up the hill. Theresa ran after him. "Wait, shouldn't we—"

Pastor John ignored her and unlocked rounded the corner of the path to Luke's cabin. This was all the boy's fault—nothing like this had ever happened since Luke arrived. He had been the source of every headache the Pastor had to endure, every shred of doubt the man had about his ability to lead by example and show the campers the righteous path. Pastor John was sick of being the villain, he was sick of seeing the Snyder kid with a perpetual halo over his head, when in reality the boy was nothing more than cancerous growth on the reputation of the camp, a sheep in wolf's clothing.

The Pastor opened the door to the isolation cabin and burst in, catching a napping Luke completely off guard. Luke sat up and wondered if this had anything to do with the voices he had heard outside. He watched as Pastor John noticed the untouched food on the floor. The Pastor picked up the cold piece of toast Luke had thrown and marched over to Luke.

Luke shrank in the corner of his cot as the man came at him like a bull. The Pastor grabbed his hair and pulled him off the bed.

"Ow!" Luke cried, holding the man's hand as he grasped the hair on the back of his head.

"Sir, stop!" Theresa cried from the doorway.

Pastor John yanked Luke by his hair and forced him to tilt his head up. "Open your mouth!" he yelled.

Luke clamped his mouth shut, pressing his lips together tightly.

"Open your goddamn mouth and eat!" the Pastor yelled. He thrust the piece of toast on Luke's closed lips and tried to force-feed him as Luke squirmed to get away.

"Pastor John!" a voice commanded from the doorway.

Luke and the Pastor looked towards the door and saw Krieger standing near with a calm, authoritative look on his face.

Pastor John released Luke and threw the toast on the floor. "Mr. Krieger," he said, dumbfounded.

Krieger looked at the two men, the boy on the floor and the Pastor with a defeated, helpless look on his face. "Well," he said. "Looks like I arrived just in the nick of time."

**To be continued**


	13. Krieger's Reign

The next day, the day after Charles had tried to jump off the roof at Echo Lake, Andy found himself sitting at the terminal of the train station in his hometown of St. Joseph. A simple black duffle bag was at his feet with a few changes of clothes, his toothbrush, and his mother's Bible.

"If you're going to piss away all the money we spent on trying to set you straight," his mother had said just a few hours after he had arrived home from the camp, "you can live out the rest of your childhood at your grandmother's."

Andy's mother had promised him that his grandmother would finally be the one to whip his ass into shape, that the revelation of his homosexuality would spawn an Armageddon within their family where Andy would be the main receiver of the hostility. Andy knew the second his mother and father packed his things and drove him to the train station, he would get the beating of a lifetime from that scrappy old hag.

Andy looked at the ticket in his hand and then at the clock on the wall. His train to Canton would depart at one o'clock, in less than half an hour. He sighed and stuffed his ticket back in his duffle bag. He looked around at the happy families reuniting and waiting for their trains, families that would never dump their children at a train station without so much as a tear or goodbye for their faggot, failure of a son.

"_Find my family_," Luke had said.

The words rang in Andy's ears. He shuddered to think what the rest of his friends' fates were—hard labor in the sun, confinement in the isolation cabin, or, God forbid, shock therapy in the basement of the—

"_Lily and Holden Snyder_ . . ."

Andy closed his eyes at the though of Luke's voice. His desperation. His helplessness. Andy was the only on one the outside, the only one with a chance to help everyone, to be some kind of hero and maybe even save the day—

"The one-thirty train from St. Joseph to Chicago has been bumped to one-fifteen," the announcer over the station intercom called out. "All passengers please line up at the gate for boarding."

Andy looked at the train schedule displayed in digital lights above the ticket counter. St. Joe's to Chicago was only about two and a half hours, two and a half hours away from Ian, the man he loved and whom he had been away from for far too long. His heart ached at the possibility of seeing his boyfriend again.

"_They live in Oakdale_ . . ."

The sound of Luke's voice again caused Andy to close his eyes and swallow hard. So much fear. So much hope. Without Luke, Andy could never have called Ian to let him know he hadn't forgotten about him. Without Luke, Andy would have had nothing to wait for after the summer.

Andy stood and walked to the ticket counter. The woman on the other side of the glass smiled up at him. Andy dug in his duffle bag and pulled out his pre-ordered ticket.

"I'd like to reimburse my ticket for another location," he said, sliding his ticket under the glass.

"Where would you like to go?" the woman asked.

"Oakdale," Andy said.

0000000

Miles away, just as Andy was boarding the train to Oakdale, Luke found himself wanting to snap off the hand that guided him to the detention center, the hand of Ricky that held him tightly and vengefully as if Luke had been a constant source of annoyance his entire life.

"You're lucky Mr. Krieger is doing this for you," Ricky said as they came to the building. "If it were me, I'd ship all you trouble-makers to the middle of the lake on a rowboat and watch you fend for yourselves."

"Ever the humanitarian," Luke muttered as they entered the building and walked down the hall. They came to a door at the end if the hall marked 'detainees' in white letters.

Before entering, Ricky turned Luke by his shoulder to face him. He pointed at the boy's face. "Just so you know, Krieger's only doing this to calm everyone down after Charles' little stunt. You might think he gives a rat's ass about you, but don't think you're off the hook." He opened the door to the room. "_Any_ of you."

Luke was ushered inside a room much like the sick ward, with tiled floors and inspirational posters tacked to the white walls. The windows were also painted white, and a plain card table was set up in the middle of the room with a bookshelf in between the windows on the far end. Three sets of doors lined the north and south wall, portals to separate sleeping quarters with only a bed and a toilet in the windowless room.

Luke looked at the card table and saw Paul sitting with a counselor, reading from the Bible with a notepad nearby. He brightened when he saw Luke and sat up in his chair.

"Snyder!" he called.

Luke smiled when he saw his old friend, feeling as though he hadn't seen him, or anyone other than a camp counselor, for a hundred years. Luke entered the room with Ricky.

"Your room is the second door on the left," Ricky said, pointing to Luke's new sleeping quarters. He made Luke look at him by pulling on his arm. "You're in here the whole day except for meals. All kids sent here sit at a separate table in the mess hall. There's no talking, no touching, and no moving unless Adam here tells you different." Ricky motioned towards the older gentleman with white, thinning hair and deep wrinkles who sat with Paul at the table. "If you break any of the rules," Ricky continued, "you're going straight to the isolation cabin."

"Sir, yes sir," Luke said sarcastically.

Ricky gave him a look like he wanted to break his teeth in, but the man only huffed a sigh through his nose and turned on his heels. "Adam," he called to his co-worker, "tell Snyder how it works." Ricky opened the door of the room and left, locking it behind him.

Luke turned to the older gentleman at the head of the table. The man rolled his eyes at his new charge, as though Luke were just another burden to be bothered by, and continued reading the copy of _Faith_ magazine sitting in his lap.

"Take a seat," Adam said, not bothering to look up from his reading.

Luke glanced at Paul and gave him a weak smile. Paul looked him up and down and his face turned into a grimace. "You look like hell, Snyder," he said.

"Cool it," Adam snapped, looking at Paul to shut him up.

Luke took a seat and placed his hands on the tabletop. He stared at Adam, waiting for the man to give him instructions. "So . . . what am I—?"

Adam pointed to the other Bible on the table without removing his eyes from the article he was reading. He seemed determined to do as little work as possible even though he was in charge of making sure the boys did as they were told.

"Take a pen and paper," Adam said, "copy the passages of the Bible starting with Genesis."

Luke did a double take at the old man. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How many?"

Adam looked at him for the first time since he arrived. "_All_ of them," he said. He looked at Paul. "Give him some of your paper."

Paul ripped a sheet of paper from the yellow notepad by his arm and handed it to Luke. Adam fished in his back pocket as his eyes scanned his magazine and threw a ballpoint pen at Luke. "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Luke said. "Is there a point to any of this?"

Adam sighed at set his magazine down on the table. "All I'm supposed to do," he said to Luke, "is make sure you guys keep busy. You could be twiddling your thumbs in here all day for I care." He picked up his magazine again and flipped the page. "This is the only job around here where I can have some peace."

Luke raised his eyebrows and looked at his paper. He glanced up at Paul and his friend smiled at him.

"He's really quite charming once you get to know him," Paul whispered.

0000000

Krieger stared out at the campers of Echo Lake as they looked up at him on the pulpit. The faces of so many lost young men, sheep under a misguided shepherd. He cleared his throat in the microphone and made sure to spot Pastor John in the audience near the back.

"Based on recent events," Krieger said into the microphone, "there need to be a few changes made around here." He looked at the Pastor again and the young man lowered his head. "It seems there has been a lot of room for insubordination around here—theft, disregard for authority . . ." he paused, inwardly gagging at the idea of two of his campers being intimate, "and lewdness."

The crowd remained silent. Eli watched from the back row as the boss himself lectured the room about a return to positive moral values. He wondered where Luke was, why Paul or Ryan or even Noah wasn't here to listen to the man's speech.

"I've always been an advocate for change," Krieger went on. "I believe that we, as a community, can push past these horrible happenings and make ourselves better for it." He looked around the audience again, praying his message was getting through effectively. "The way we do that is through hard work, encouragement, and a lot of self-reflection."

A low murmur traveled about the room as the boys began whispering amongst themselves. Krieger held up his hand to silence them.

"Effective immediately," he went on, "in addition to mass and Bible study, every camper at this facility will be commissioned to do a labor-intensive task orientated around the camp."

There was silence. Krieger pulled on his shirt collar and wiped his sweating brow. "This means work, people—hard, excessive work. You'll be given positions after the meeting. Every camper will have a site they'll be working at, and every site will have a counselor oversee production."

Another silence hushed over the audience. A boy near the front row sheepishly raised his hand. "What kind of work will we be doing?" he asked.

Krieger smiled. This was what he had hoped for, this is what he had always envisioned for the camp. He pictured the grinning, grateful faces of the boys who would learn the value in hard work, who would come to understand God's will and, eventually, respect him for it.

0000000

"I was sure you'd fire me," Pastor John said as he walked with Krieger to the main lodge from the mess hall that night after dinner.

Krieger smiled and patted the Pastor's arm. "John, you know I'd never let someone as valuable as you slip away," he said. "And besides, things may have been rough for a while, but now that I'm here with a firm hand, we'll get this place running like it used to be again."

Pastor John grinned slightly. His boss' enthusiasm was hard to ignore. Ever since the man came, the Pastor felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, that he could now focus on more important things without having to worry about overseeing an entire camp of potentially troublesome boys.

"Where have you placed Charles?" Krieger asked.

"We took Ryan out of solitary and put Charles in his place," Pastor John said.

"Good," Krieger said, nodding. He stopped and turned to his employee. "I understand Ryan has been in mourning for someone back home—"

"His boyfriend, sir," the Pastor said. "He got killed by—"

"Spare me the details," Krieger said, holding up his hand. "I'm not looking for a sob story. Just make sure Ryan is well taken care of, regardless of his past demeanors. We don't want what happened to Charles happening to him."

Pastor John nodded swiftly. He wondered if he should have consulted Krieger before putting Ryan back in the sick ward with Nurse Joyce. "What about Noah?" he asked.

Krieger entered the main lodge and stopped in the lobby. He turned to Pastor John. "That's something I'm leaving to you, John. I'm putting my utmost faith in you that you'll correct Noah's horrible choice by any means necessary." Krieger looked at the man seriously. "I want to send a message to future children coming to this camp—that we can help them no matter how far down the path of sin they travel." He smiled and patted the Pastor's shoulder again. "I'm counting on you to make it right, John."

The Pastor shook his head. "I won't let you down," he said, "I promise."

Krieger nodded and walked with his employee down the back hall of the lodge. "Good. Did he sign the papers yet?"

"Not yet," Pastor John said. "But he's getting close." He followed his supervisor up a flight of stairs leading to the next floor. "I think we should move Chase up here until Noah signs," the Pastor said, walking down the hall of the second floor a step behind Krieger. "You know . . . so he doesn't change his mind?"

Krieger stopped in front of a polished oak door leading to another room. He grinned and shook his head at the Pastor. "See, this is why I couldn't let you go, John," Krieger said. He opened the door to the room. "You really know how to appeal to the kids."

The two men looked in at the small room as Chase sat in a chair in the corner. He was strapped down with a strange-looking machine sitting next to him, wires sticking out of it that were attached in various places along his arms, legs, and head. A counselor sat on the other end of the room next to a television. When an image came on the screen, the machine beeped and Chase cried out in pain. Another image came on and the machine beeped again.

"Ahh!" Chase cried, wincing as the wires sent a shock of pain through his body

_Beep!_ went the machine. Chase's body tensed and he clenched his jaw as tiny lightning bolts of pain nipped at his skin.

"Stop!" Chase cried. His body twitched and his face scrunched up.

_Beep!_

Chase squirmed in his seat as if he could get away from the shooting, electrical pain. He gripped the armrests of the chair and let out an agonizing cry. "Please! I'll do anything, just make it _stop_!"

Krieger closed the door as Chase continued to sob. He turned to the Pastor again and smiled. "This is going to be a glorious new beginning, John."

**To be continued**


	14. Resistance Pt 1

That night, after a train delay set his schedule back a few hours, Andy found himself sleeping on a park bench in the middle of Oakdale, exhausted from trying to hitchhike a ride into town from the train station and finding no luck. He had walked the remaining five miles into town, and by the time he reached the park, he was too exhausted to do anything other than lie down.

Andy awoke from his makeshift bed to someone prodding his shoulder. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the police officer staring down at him. Andy uncrossed his arms from over his chest and sat up on the park bench he had been sleeping on. He took off his hoodie and stared at the police officer.

"Hi there," the tall, youngish policeman said.

Andy nodded his head at the man. "Hello," he replied.

The officer looked the boy up and down. "You're not planning on sleeping here all night, are you?" he asked.

Andy swallowed hard and looked around. He gave the policeman a smile and shook his head. "Nope," he saw a group of students in Oakdale U t-shirts walk by. "Just catching up on some sleep before a night class," he said. Andy reached over and patted the duffle bag by his feet, hoping it would trick the officer into thinking he was a student at the school.

"It's summer," the policeman said. He leaned in closer to Andy. "Classes are over."

Andy swallowed again and gave him a weak smile. "Summer classes?"

The officer held his hand out. "Can I see your ID, please?" he asked.

Andy shrugged nonchalantly and began reaching in his back pocket. He knew if he had been found out, if the policeman discovered he had wandered into town with no money and unsuspecting parents back home, he would be in a world of trouble.

"I got it here somewhere . . ." Andy laughed.

The officer crossed his arms over his chest impatiently. Andy put his wallet back in his pocket and took a deep breath. He grabbed his duffle bag and ran from the bench, pushing past the policeman like a linebacker with the game-winning football clutched in his hands.

"Hey!" the policeman yelled. "Come back here!" he ran after the young man, over the hill of the park and across the street as the kid braved the traffic.

Andy ran down the street and turned the corner at a small cluster of shops with a courtyard. As he rounded the brick building, he bumped into a man wearing a suit and tie. Andy fell back and the man with slicked-back hair and olive skin cried out.

"Watch where you're going!" he yelled as Andy tumbled to the pavement.

"Stop!" the policeman yelled. He caught up to the scene and yanked Andy to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "Gotch ya!"

The man held his hand out. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked in his Italian accent.

"I'm sorry, sir," the policeman said. "I caught this kid sleeping on a bench in the park. Did he hurt you?"

The man in the expensive suit straightened his jack collar and stared at Andy as though he were a common criminal. "No, he only frightened me," he said.

"I'm just here to see my aunt and uncle," Andy said to the policeman. "Holden and Lily Snyder . . . my train ran late and—"

"Did you say Holden and Lily Snyder?" the man asked, holding his hand up to silence the boy.

Andy looked at him and nodded vigorously. "Yeah," he said. "Do you know them?"

"What do you want with them?" the man asked, looking Andy up and down suspiciously.

"Sir, I can take him down to the station," the policeman said, "you don't have to trouble yourself with—"

"I'm here about their son, Luke," Andy said. He looked at the officer quickly and back-tracked his story. "I mean—my, uh, cousin."

"Luke?" the man cried, stepping closer. "What do you know about him?"

It was Andy's turn to be suspicious. While in the clutches of the police officer, he looked at the shifty gentleman, carefully picking his words. "He needs his father," Andy said.

The Italian man looked at the policeman, who seemed confused about the entire situation, then at the boy again. He pointed to himself, as if justifying his part in everything Andy had been talking about. "_I'm_ his father," he said. "My name is Damien Grimaldi."

"Wait, I'm confused," the officer said.

The man named Damien held his hand up to the policeman. "It's alright, officer," he looked at Andy again. "I'll take care of the boy."

0000000

Noah rolled over on his cot and listened to the harsh wind slapping at his window. He wondered where Chase had been all day, if they had moved him to a new location so he and Noah wouldn't get too friendly with one another. As much as the kid had freaked him out the other night, it was nice to have someone to talk to who was in the same boat as he was.

Noah sat up when he heard someone coming down the stairs to the basement. He listened as the person entered the room and closed the door behind him. Noah waited for a bit as the figure drew closer. Pastor John opened the door to his room and looked at Noah with a smile.

"Hello, Noah," he said.

Noah looked at the papers in the man's hand and felt his face drop. He drew in a deep breath and nodded at the Pastor. "Hi," he responded.

Pastor John motioned wit his head for Noah to follow him. "Come with me," he said.

Noah stood from his cot, barefoot in his sleeping uniform, and followed the Pastor out the door of his room and to the table in the middle of the basement. He sat at his usual place near the wall and Pastor John slapped the stack of papers in front of Noah with a large grin. He took a pen from his back pocket and held it out to Noah.

"I'm so happy you've decided to do the right thing," he said.

Noah looked at the pen in the man's hand, then at the papers before him. He felt scared and anxious and didn't know why. He felt like someone else should have been in the room with him, as though Pastor John were an inexperienced doctor about ready to take out his spleen. Noah slowly took the pen from the man's fingers and set it on the table.

"I need your word," he said to the man. "I need you to promise that you'll let Luke out of here."

Pastor John nodded and held up his hand. "I swear, you have my word." He looked at Noah with his smile, and when it seemed the boy still didn't believe him, Pastor John switched to his serious face and leaned on the table with his hands, keeping eye contact with Noah. "The arrangements have already been made," he said. "All we need is your signature."

Noah stared at the man for a moment, gauging the sincerity in his eyes. He picked up the pen and looked at the papers before him. _Luke_, he thought to himself. He was doing this for Luke. Nothing else mattered. As long as Luke was safe and at home, then there was still a chance for them, after everything they would put Noah through after signing these papers, there would still be a chance for them at the end of the summer.

Noah positioned the pen on the signature line without reading the fine print. He thought about kissing Luke in the rain, how unexpected and wonderful it was, how happy it made him. He scribbled his first names and thought about the first time he saw Luke, how he knew in that instant that he was different than anyone else at that camp. Noah finished writing his last name, and when the pen came off the paper, he felt a heavy darkness settling over him, one that clouded his good memories of Luke until all he could imagine was the horrible things they might do to him because of these few sheets of paper.

Noah pushed the papers towards the Pastor and stared at the tabletop. Pastor John took the signed papers and gave Noah a nod. "I'm proud of you, Noah," he said.

Noah felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but he couldn't help the salty, hot feeling from rising in his face. He sniffled and wiped away a tear that had managed to escape.

"Just make sure Luke is okay," Noah said in a cracked voice. He looked at the Pastor, and the man smiled at him reassuringly.

"Of course," Pastor John said. "As God is my witness."

Noah nodded slowly. He wiped away another tear. "Thank you," he said.

Pastor John tucked the papers under his arm securely and motioned for Noah to follow him. "Let's get started, then," he said, heading towards the door.

Noah stood. "Now?" he asked.

The Pastor turned. "No time like the present, Noah," he said. "I don't want to waste a moment."

Noah watched as the Pastor opened the door to the stairs of the basement. He hesitated to move, felt as though he were being led into a trap. Pastor John turned when he saw Noah wasn't moving and waved at him.

"Come on, Noah," he said. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

Noah thought of Luke once again and pushed away all of his doubt, all of his worry about what was to come. He focused on the goodness of his deed and tried to imagine Luke's smiling face when they would meet again, but it was quickly replaced with the fear of the unknown in his gut. He swallowed hard, and followed the Pastor up the staircase.

0000000

Ryan stared at the ceiling on his bed in the nurse's station. He counted the tiny dots on the tile and surmised that, for every speck of black on the ceiling, there was at least three campers suffering somewhere in their bunk, agonizing over their situation.

He thought about Luke. He thought about where Noah might have been and how Eli and Paul were faring. He thought about the look on Charles' face when Ricky brought him to the hold to take his place—a look of remorse and utter hopelessness. Ryan didn't want to turn into that, but as he turned his head and caught sight of his reflection in the window, he realized he may already have.

Nurse Joyce entered the infirmary and looked at Ryan as he lay on the bed. She slowly walked over to him and Ryan sat up to better face her.

"Hey, sweetie," Joyce said, giving him a weak smile.

Ryan returned the gesture as best he could. "Hi," he replied.

The nurse sat on the edge of Ryan's bed and studied his face. "You're looking better," she said. "Did those sleeping pills I gave you last night work?"

Ryan smiled weakly and nodded. "I'm right as rain," he said.

Nurse Joyce squeezed his shoulder. "It's okay, you know," she said. "You don't have to pretend you're alright. You've been through a lot."

Ryan cleared his throat, sensing an opportunity "Yeah," he said, "about that . . . I was wondering if I could see Mr. Krieger sometime today."

The nurse gave him a quizzical look. "Why?" she asked.

Ryan shrugged and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I thought I'd . . . you know, make amends. Apologize for being so difficult."

Nurse Joyce shook her head. "Oh, sweetie, you don't need to apologize for anything."

"Yeah, but," Ryan stared at his hands in his lap, "I mean, there's been a lot of stuff going on lately, and I think I'm ready to accept what happened back home and move on." He looked at Joyce, silently praying she was buying his story. "If anything, it'll make my time here a little easier, right?"

The nurse smiled slowly at Ryan. "Okay," she said, nodded. "If that's how you feel, I'll take you to see him right now."

Ryan grinned. "Thank you," he said.

Nurse Joyce stood and gave Ryan a nod as she looked down at him. "I'll call him to tell him you're coming," she said.

Ryan returned the nod. "The sooner the better," he said. He watched as Joyce turned on her heels and walked back to her desk. When she was a good distance away and her back was fully to him, Ryan reached between his mattresses and pulled out a napkin he had saved from the breakfast tray they brought him earlier. He checked the folds of the paper tissue to make sure the sleeping pills he had crushed with his oatmeal spoon was still intact in its powdery form.

"Good news," Joyce said.

Ryan jumped and stuffed the tissue under his pillow. He looked at Joyce as she held the phone in her hand.

"Mr. Krieger has a window of time to see you," she said.

Ryan nodded and smiled. "Great," he said. He watched as Joyce turned back around and continued talking on the phone. Ryan let out a relieved sigh and prayed to God his plan would work.

0000000

"Tell me again where you came from," Damien said, eyeing the boy across the table.

Andy sighed and put his hands over his face. When he was first brought to the swanky restaurant at the Lakeview Hotel, he thought the intimidating man in the Armani suit would treat him to a decent meal and a few polite questions. Instead, Andy found himself being interrogated by an Italian businessman, who was probably a part of the mob in the first place, with only a glass of sweating water by his side and a menu full of delicious food.

"I told you a thousand times," Andy said. "I'm from the Krieger Program at Echo Lake. It's a de-gaying camp for teenage boys."

"How is it they let you out of the program?" Damien asked, putting his hands together in front of his face.

Andy sat back in his chair. "It's . . . a long story," he said. "But I'm telling the truth, Luke is in trouble—"

"What did he do?" Damien asked.

"It doesn't matter!" Andy cried. "What matters is that he's innocent and he's being punished for nothing!"

"I see what you're getting at," Damien said, pointing to the boy. "You got yourself kicked out of the program and Luke had you come crying to me because of a few harsh rules at the camp." He sat up and leaned closer to Andy. "Let me tell you something, boy—it's gonna take a lot more than some punk with a made-up story for me to take my son out of the program."

"It's not made up!" Andy yelled. He looked around when he noticed a few patrons at the bar looking at him. Andy lowered his voice and said, "You're his father. I'm telling you your son needs help and you're completely ignoring me."

"It would help if you told me what, exactly, my son did to get himself in trouble."

Andy opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again when he realized the truth might not be the best thing to help Luke, especially when his so-called "father" seemed to be the least bit interested in his well-being. If this man knew Luke had kissed another boy at the camp, there would be no hope for Luke.

Andy sighed again and rolled his eyes. "This doesn't make any sense," he said to himself. "Luke told me to find Lily and Holden Snyder, you don't even have the same last name—"

Damien rose from his chair suddenly and pointed to himself. "_I'm_ Luciano's real father! My blood runs through his veins! Unless my son is hurt, you have no business—"

"There you are, Damien!"

Andy turned to the voice coming towards their table and saw an older woman wearing a chic suit and sunglasses coming towards them. She took her shades off and peered at the fuming Italian man. "I've been looking all over for you," she said. "Holden and Lily want a word with you—"

Andy stood from his chair and turned to face the woman. "Did you say Holden and Lily?" he asked.

The older woman smiled at the boy and nodded. "That's right," she said.

"Lucinda," Damien said, addressing the woman, "now is not the best time—"

"Holden and Lily Snyder?" Andy continued.

The woman looked the young man up and down. "Who's asking?" she said.

Damien moved around the table to face the woman named Lucinda. "This boy is a nuisance," he said. "He's spreading lies—"

"They're not lies!" Andy snapped at the man. He turned back to the older, well-dressed woman. "My name is Andy, I'm a friend of Luke's—"

The woman's smile faded into a worry frown. "Luke?" she asked, touching the boy's shoulder. "What do you know about Luke?"

Andy sighed. "He's in trouble," he said.

0000000

Luke could barely concentrate on the words of the Bible passage he was reading. The pen lay motionless between his fingers as a dizzy sensation flooded his brain. The letters in the passage became squiggly lines, as did the chicken-scratch handwriting on his notepad where he was copying scripture.

Paul noticed Luke's state. "Hey," he whispered. "You okay, man?"

"No talking," Adam, their overseer, snapped as he read his magazine.

Paul ignored him, and instead watched as Luke grew even wearier by the second. Luke felt a cramping sensation in his stomach, followed by a loud rumbling from his gut. His body craved food, his mind dissolved into grayness where everything was delayed a half-second and the voices around him were muted. Luke licked his dry lips and decided water was the best thing to curb his growing hunger. He stood from the card table where he and Paul had been copying scripture all morning.

"Back in your seat, Snyder," Adam said.

Paul looked at Luke as his friend swayed on his feet. "Luke?" he asked.

Luke saw tiny black dots pop and speck in front of his face as he rose from his seat. His dizziness increased and his head felt like a lead balloon. He put a hand to his forehead and felt his knees quiver.

Paul stood from his chair, horrified at the ghost-white complexion of his friend. "Luke, are you okay?" he said.

"I just . . . need to . . ." Before Luke could utter another word, the specks of black in front of his face enveloped his vision completely, and he felt himself spiraling downwards quickly.

"Luke!" Paul cried as his friend fell to the floor.

Adam bolted from his chair and rushed to Luke as the boy crumpled to the floor. Paul rushed to the door and began pounding on it.

"Help, we need help in here!" he cried.

Adam rolled Luke over onto his back and ran to Paul. He pulled the boy away from the door. "Stay with him," the older man ordered. "I'll go get help."

Paul went to Luke and knelt by his friend as Adam left the room to get help. He held Luke's hand, unsure of what to do. "Luke?" he called. "Luke, stay with me," he said. But Paul's efforts were useless—all Luke could hear was the echoing drum of the blood pounding in his ears as he slipped further and further away into unconsciousness.

0000000

"Come in, Ryan," Krieger called as Ryan knocked on his office door.

Ryan entered with his head bent low. Mr. Krieger smiled at him and motioned for him to close the door. "I'm sorry to bother you," Ryan said, shutting the door and walking closer.

"Nonsense," Krieger said as he stood behind his desk. "I'm a little pressed for time, but I'm always willing to hear from a camper. He sat at his desk chair and folded his hands in his lap. "What can I do for you, Ryan?" he asked.

Ryan sat down in the chair opposite of Krieger. "Well, sir," he began, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior these past few days." Ryan paused for dramatic effect, to make his remorse seem real. "Not just for my period of mourning, but for my involvement with the others in getting Eli's necklace back."

Krieger smiled widely, hardly expecting anything like this from their meeting. "Well, that's very big of you, Ryan," he said. "I'm glad you feel strongly enough to come in here and offer a personal apology."

Ryan nodded slowly and kept his head bent low. He eyed the man's mug of coffee by a stack of papers on his desk. "I also wanted to apologize on behalf of my friends," he said. "I know our little stunt caused you and the counselors a lot of grief."

Krieger's smile faded. "Yes, it's been a rough couple of weeks," he said. "With the incident with Charles, and Luke's inability to cooperate . . ." he paused for a moment, seemingly revisiting the memories as he stared off into space. He smiled at Ryan again. "Anyway, it'd good you decided to talk to me," he said.

"I want to get better," Ryan said, looking at the man behind the desk. "I've decided, after what happened to my boy—my _friend_ back home—I want a chance to live a normal life."

"Is that so?" Krieger said, sitting up a little in his seat. "You're willing to submit yourself fully to the program?"

Ryan nodded. "If that's what it takes to be normal," he said. "I'll do anything." He paused again. "I just want a chance to really make something of myself."

Krieger stood from his desk and walked around Ryan's chair to the bookshelf near the door. "I think I have some reading material for you, if you like."

Ryan watched as Krieger rummaged through his bookshelf, and took his opportunity to take the crushed sleeping pills from the waistband of his pants. He quickly leaned over Krieger's desk and spilled the powder in the man's coffee, swirling the mug quickly to let the drug sink to the bottom. Ryan sat down quickly as Krieger turned back to him with a leatherbound in his hand.

"You'll like this one," Krieger said, holding the book out.

Ryan gave him the best smile he could muster and took the book from the man's hand. "Thank you, sir," he said.

Krieger walked back around his desk and sat down. Ryan sat back in his chair and eyed the man's cup of coffee, thinking of ways to make him drink it.

_Keep him talking_, Ryan thought. _As long as it takes_.

"I'm very excited about this," Ryan said, holding the book up. "I think this will be good for me."

"Of course it's good for you," Krieger said. "That's what this camp is all about." He reached over and took his mug of coffee. Ryan watched eagerly as the man took a sip. "You'll have to work hard you know," Krieger said after taking a swig. He didn't seem to notice anything off with his drink, and for that, Ryan was grateful.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes," Ryan said. An idea popped into his head suddenly as he looked at the framed degrees on the man's wall. "I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about the camp," he said. "You know—how you got it started?"

Krieger smiled and took another sip of his coffee. "That's a very interesting story," he said. He set the mug back down on his desk and stood from his chair. "But I'm afraid our time is up."

Ryan's face dropped as Krieger moved around his desk. "You—you have to be somewhere?" he stammered.

"I'm afraid so," Krieger said, motioning for Ryan to rise from his seat.

Ryan followed him to the door, feeling his every hope come crashing down on him. He gripped the book tighter in his hand, and knew that once he was out that door, his plan would be ruined. "Maybe we could talk about the book a little more?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, son," he said, "but it'll have to wait."

As Krieger put his hand on the knob of the door, Ryan felt a primal, unfamiliar urge rise in him. His panicked state caused him to result to plan B, something he didn't want to think about having to do should the pills fail. Ryan took the book in both hands and swung it at Krieger's head. The man fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, hardly crying out as Ryan struck him.

As soon as Krieger hit the floor, Ryan immediately regretted his impulsive decision. He threw the book on the floor. "Shit!" he cried. He knelt down at checked the man's neck for a pulse. It was strong, and his face suggested the old man was out cold. Ryan moved to Krieger's head and put his hands under the man's arms. He began pulling Krieger towards the desk, swearing as he lugged the heavy bastard.

"Damn it, damn it," he muttered.

When Ryan was confident that Krieger was far enough behind the desk to remain hidden, he plopped the man down and frantically searched what he had really come for. Ryan dug through the drawers of the desk, sifting through papers and stray pens.

"Sorry, man," Ryan said to the unconscious Krieger as he looked in the desk. "This is hurting me more than it's hurting you." He pulled open the last drawer on the right, and found a large silver hoop that held every key to the camp. He smiled and held the keys to his freedom up and looked over at Krieger. "The ends justify the means."

**To be continued**


	15. Resistance Pt 2

Breaking the window in his second-story room was easier than Chase anticipated, especially since it was single-paned and probably as old as the camp itself. He had seen it done in the movies a million times—the hunky lead character would wrap a towel or cloth around his knuckles and punch out the glass like the badass he was. Chase was sure someone must have heard him break the glass, these guys around camp had ears like goddamn cats. He stopped in his bare room and listened for footsteps running up the stairs. When he didn't hear anything, he unwrapped his shirt from his hand and slipped it back on his body.

Chase waited once more for footsteps or voices. He moved to the locked door of his room and pressed his ear against it. Footsteps. Chase backed away from the door and thought of ways to hide the broken window should the person come in. He strained his hearing and listened to the people coming up the stairs. Their muffled voices sent a wave of panic over him.

"This won't take long, Noah."

Pastor John's voice. Chase didn't have to think twice about it before he knew where the footsteps were going. Poor Noah drew the short straw and he was about to get fried by the anti-Christ, himself. Seeing this diversion as an opportunity, Chase went to the window and began climbing out onto the ledge of a nearby tree.

"Just call me Houdini," Chase said through gritted teeth as he climbed the branch towards the trunk. "A regular escape artist, right?"

When he reached the trunk of the tall oak, Chase hugged it like a long-lost relative and breathed heavily at his efforts. He looked back at the distance from the window to where he was and let out a laugh.

"Call the warden," He said, slowly making his way downwards, "we got a lunatic on the loose!"

With every painstaking step to a lower branch, Chase was terrified a counselor would see him, especially in broad daylight. He was amazed no one had blown the whistle on him yet, even more amazed that he was safely making his way to the ground when he hadn't climbed a tree since he was ten years old.

Chase reached the ground with a thud, landing on his feet and crouching low. He hid himself behind the trunk and surveyed the area—the lake was off in the distance, visible through the cabins that dotted the shoreline. He watched as a few counselors walked here and there across the way, and decided his best bet was to cut through the brush to make his way to the kitchen. Chase crouched low and hopped from bush to bush, waiting with his heart in his throat until it was clear for him to keep going.

When he finally made his way to the kitchen, Chase ran through the back door and slammed it shut. He crouched on the floor, under the steel prep table. No cooks were in sight, nor any campers. He felt like all of this was too good to be true—a stroke of luck when he had lately been in a heap of shit about a mile deep.

Chase surveyed the kitchen from his low eye-level. He knew where there would be a box of matches to light the gas stove. He knew where the kept the buckets of grease to be thrown out after dinner.

Maybe this could actually work.

Maybe he'd finally teach them all a lesson.

0000000

At the same time Chase was contemplating blazing fires and burnt flesh, Noah was being strapped to a chair with Velcro ties in a room with a television and strange machines. There was a heart monitor next to him, with a different machine on his other side spewing wires and adhesives. Noah felt himself tremble as the Pastor strapped him in, as though he were a conscious patient about to be put under the knife in some sort of horrifying experiment.

The door to the room opened and Noah watched as Rick entered with a small smile on his face. The burly camp counselor closed the door and walked over to the television set. He stood and nodded towards Noah.

"You'll thank us for this," he said.

Noah swallowed hard and was surprised to hear himself breathing so heavily as the Pastor attached adhesive patches to his skin with wires connecting to the machine on his left. Pastor John clipped a pulse monitor on Noah's finger and turned the EKG on. A sudden panic came over Noah when he saw his own rapid pulse on the monitor.

"Wait," Noah said, looking at the Pastor. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Pastor John placed another patch on Noah's temple. "It's a little late for that," he said. He gave Noah a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon."

"No, you're not listening!" Noah cried. "I changed my mind, I don't want to do this!"

"And what about Luke?" Pastor John asked. "You really want me to call him back here after I already sent him off in the van?"

Damn. Noah knew he couldn't let Luke down, not when he was already almost free. He made a commitment into order to protect Luke, and the coward's way out wasn't going to help anyone. Noah lowered his head and tried to calm his breathing. What if this was all a trick? What if they were trying to kill him?

"I'm going to show you some images, Noah," Pastor John said, moving towards the television. "You don't have to do anything, just watch the screen.

The panic rose in Noah again like the swell of a tide and he tugged at the restraints on his hands and feet. "Don't do this!" he yelled. "Please, let's do it another way!"

"Drastic times call for drastic measures," Pastor John said. "You've fallen far from grace in a short amount of time, Noah—this is the only way to bring you back."

"Please!" Noah pleaded.

"Roll the tape," the Pastor said to Rick.

Rick leaned his arm across the television and bent over to turn the TV on. An image of a shirtless man came on the screen, a picture as though someone had done a slideshow on their computer and made a DVD out of it.

Noah looked at the screen for a moment, puzzled as to what he was seeing. The machine on his left made a sudden BEEP! noise, and Noah felt a shock of electricity surge through his body.

"Arrgh!" he cried. When the feeling was gone, Noah gasped for breath and looked at the men before him. "What the hell was that?" he cried.

Another image came onto the screen, this time of two boys, about Noah's age, kissing. The machine beeped and Noah felt that familiar shock of pain coursing through his muscles, a searing hot feeling Noah had never experienced before. He gritted his teeth as the pain shot through him, and closed his eyes tightly when it was over.

"Stop!" Noah yelled. He opened his eyes to plead with his captors, a bad mistake he soon learned when another image popped up on to the screen and the machine beeped again.

Noah screamed as a thousand lightning bolts swam in his blood. He wanted to rip his teeth out and stab himself blind. He wanted to cut off his limbs if only to distract himself from the pain of the shocks they were giving him. It was torture, plain and simple.

"For God's sake!" Noah cried.

"This will all be over soon, if you stop fighting it," Pastor John said.

Noah cracked his eyes open. Image after image ran through the television, each one more pornographic than the next, and each one causing Noah so much pain from the shock they were giving him, he thought he might die.

Just when Noah knew he couldn't handle it anymore, the door opened and Noah saw Theresa standing in the doorway. Pastor John and Rick whipped around, startled to see her.

"Chase is gone!" she cried. "He escaped, he's not—"

Noah glanced at the TV again and the monitor beeped. He screamed from the pain of the shock they were giving him and Theresa looked on, horrified.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"Theresa!" Pastor John said, moving to her.

She ran from the room, terrified by what she had seen. Pastor John followed her out the door. "Get Noah out of here!" he yelled back to Rick. The Pastor caught up to the hysterical Theresa and grabbed her arm before she made it down the stairs.

"Let go!" she cried.

"Theresa, listen to me!" Pastor John said, forcing her to turn and face him. "It's not what you think, it's part of his treatment—"

"They're just children, John!" Theresa cried. "How can you do this?!"

"I'm doing this for _them_!" Pastor John yelled. "I'm doing this to save them!"

"Let go of me!" Theresa sobbed, struggling to break free from him. She had to tell the others, she had to tell _someone_ what she had seen. There was no excuse for torture, no excuse for something like shock therapy in times like these. The look on Noah's face, the pain in his eyes . . .

When Theresa finally freed herself from the Pastor's grip, she turned to run down the stairs. Pastor John grabbed her again. "I won't let you destroy everything I've worked for!" he yelled.

"Let me—!"

Theresa yanked herself away from his hand and missed the first step. Pastor John watched as she fell backwards down the stairs, her body tumbling in a series of horrifying thudding noises. "Theresa!" he called out.

She tumbled to the first-floor landing, her head hitting the wall. Pastor John stood on the top step, staring down at her motionless body as though he had pushed her. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Oh my God . . ."

0000000

_Luke was dreaming of blurry faces and a fiery lake, the voice of his mother calling out to him and speaking incoherent words. The trees around the burning lake were gray spires of ash, still smoking as though after a fresh wildfire. Luke looked down the long, rotting wood of the dock on the flaming lake and saw a figure standing at the end, a tall man with his arms spread out as though about to dive in the depths._

_Luke ran down the dock towards the man with his arms outstretched. He knew he had to stop the figure from falling over into the fire. Luke reached the end and looked over his shoulder to see the dock gone from where it connected to the shore. He stood on an island of wood, the man before him still standing with his back to Luke. Luke reached his hand out and the man turned around._

_Noah faced Luke with his arms spread out and a blank look on his face. The voice of Luke's mother continued to wail. Noah began falling, falling backwards towards the flames and Luke groped for Noah to pull him back. The flames within the lake grew larger, hotter, as Noah slipped further and further back . . . _

_Wake up . . ._

"_Noah!" Luke cried, his voice drowning in the fire of the lake._

"Wake up!"

Luke snapped his eyes open and the face of Nurse Joyce stared at him above, her head haloed by the fluorescent light of the room. He blinked rapidly to shake off the terror of his dream. He didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there—the last thing he could remember was being in the detention room with Paul and then there was nothing but blackness until his vivid nightmare crept up on him.

Luke licked his dry lips. "What—?"

"Shh!" Joyce hissed. She looked over her shoulder quickly. "We don't have much time, Ryan will be coming back soon after talking with Mr. Krieger."

Luke raised his head from the pillow of his bed and realized he was in the sick ward of the nurse's station. "I fainted," he said.

"I can take you to see Noah," Joyce said suddenly.

Luke looked at her, his interest piqued. "You can?" he asked.

Nurse Joyce helped Luke sit up on his bed. "You have to promise me you'll eat something," she said.

Luke put a hand to his throbbing head and felt weak from his fainting spell. "You'll take me to see him if I eat?" he asked.

Nurse Joyce nodded vigorously and looked over her shoulder as if someone would come in at any second. "You're getting weak," she whispered. "You haven't eaten in almost two days. If I don't do something, these people will let you starve to death."

"It's a trick," Luke said, shaking his head at her.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Luke," Joyce said, "not when your health is on the line!" She fished something out of the pocket of her nurse's coat and handed it to Luke. It was a protein bar. "Hurry up and eat, and you can see Noah." She looked at Luke with all the sincerity in the world. "You have my word."

Luke looked at the woman for a moment, and realized this might be his only chance to see Noah if he complied. He took the protein bar from her hands and tore it open, tearing a bit off and stuffing it in his mouth.

When Luke was done eating, Nurse Joyce helped his to his feet and walked him to the door to the hallway. She surveyed the area before moving on. Once outside, Luke squinted in the late afternoon sun.

"Come on," Joyce said, motioning for him to follow her.

They walked down the path dodging glances from the occasional counselor that went past. Nurse Joyce pulled Luke closer as they walked and whispered, "Noah is in the basement of the lodge. Down the stairs, through the hall, you'll come to a door—" She stopped suddenly when she saw Pastor John exiting the main lodge with a woman in his arms.

"Help!" Pastor John cried. "I need some help!"

Nurse Joyce pushed Luke towards a patch of bushes. "Get down!" she whispered. She handed him a set of keys from her pocket and thrust it in his hands. "Remember," she said. "Down the stairs, through hall, first door on the end."

"Thank you," Luke said, slinking behind a nearby birch tree as the Pastor drew near.

"Joyce, help me!" Pastor John cried, spotting her.

Nurse Joyce ran to the Pastor as he held an unconscious Theresa in his arms. "What happened?" she cried, leading him back to the nurse's station.

"She fell—it was an accident!" he said.

Noah waited until there were gone, out of his line of site until he was sure they couldn't see him when he sneaked past. He stepped out of the bushes and half-ran the rest of the way to the lodge. He burst through the doors and looked around for the door to the basement. He spotted it on the other end, and ran across the grand entrance hall. Luke stopped when he saw a flight of stairs tucked in the corner to the second floor. He looked up the stairs for a moment, wondering what was up there, then opened the door to the basement and climbed down the flight of stairs.

When he reached the last step, Luke slowly walked through the musty darkness towards the door on the end. It reminded him on his basement back home—cold and dusty and covered in cobwebs. When he reached the door, Luke took a few deep breaths. He was still light-headed from his fainting spell, still trying to soak everything in. The thought of seeing Noah on the other end raised his spirits, however, and he looked at the set of keys in his hand.

He didn't know which one to try first.

Luke couldn't contain his anxiety. He pounded on the door, hoping Noah was there to hear him. "Noah!" he called out. He banged again when he didn't hear anything at first. "Noah, can you hear me?"

Luke flipped through they keys on the chain and tried a small silver one first. No fit. He scrambled for another one and suddenly heard a muffled voice on the other end of the door.

"Luke?" the voice said.

Luke's face dropped. "Noah?" he said to the door.

"Luke, is that you?"

Luke's face broke out into an ecstatic smile. Noah was there—Noah was safe and awake and seemingly alone. "Hang on!" Luke said. "I've got the keys, I'm coming in." Luke tried a bigger, gold-colored key and again it failed.

"What're you doing here?" Noah cried on the other end.

"I'll be right in!" Luke said. "Hold on, Noah." He tried a medium-sized silver key and breathed a sigh of relief as it slid through the lock. "I got it!" he cried, smiling.

"Snyder!"

Luke whipped around at the voice and saw Rick standing at the top of the stairs.

"Shit!" Luke yelled.

"What the _hell_ are you doing down here?" Rick screamed, running down the stairs to catch up with him.

Luke turned the key and opened the door, falling through just as Rick ran to him. Luke turned and closed the door, struggling to shut it as Rick tried to break his way in. "Noah, help me!" Luke yelled.

Noah helped him by pushing his weight against the door until Rick was finally on the other end. The boys stumbled to lock it, and when the door was safely secured, they stepped away from it as Rick kicked and pounded on the door.

"Open this door, Snyder!" he yelled. "Open this door right now!"

Luke breathed heavily and turned to Noah, whose face was stuck in a look of confusion and fear.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

This not being the first thing Luke expected him to say, Luke shrugged and gave him an uneasy smile. "I, uh . . . I came here to rescue you."

**To be continued**


	16. Resistance Pt 3

Just as Luke was breaking into Noah's room to save him, Lily was giving Damian the third degree.

"You told me Luke went to Italy after I gave birth to Ethan," Lily said, pointing to Damian as they stood in her kitchen. "You told me it was his choice to leave!"

Andy sat at the table of the Snyder's kitchen. Luke's father, Holden, sat next to him and watched the two argue, and Lucinda stood nearby with her arms over her chest.

"It _was_ his choice to leave, Lily!" Damian cried.

"You lied to me!" Lily yelled.

"I only sent him to the camp to protect him, to make him a better person!"

"You're a _liar_!" Lily screamed, pushing him away.

Holden stood from the table and faced Damian—the man who had taken their son away without their knowledge, the man who lied to get what he wanted.

"I did this for _you_, Lily," Damien said, ignoring Holden's intimidating stance as he stood near. "I did it so our son wouldn't become the monster he is!"

Lily silenced the man by slapping him across the face. Andy flinched at the woman's wrath. Holden came between the two and gently pushed his wife away from Damian. He turned to the man.

"You're not his father," Holden said. "If you were really his father, you would love him no matter who he is." He looked back at the angry, trembling Lily. "That's why I would _never_ send him to a place like that."

"For God's sake, Lily, he pushed you down a flight of stairs!" Damian cried over Holden. "He almost made you lose the baby!"

"That's enough!" Lucinda yelled from her end of the kitchen. She walked around the island counter and faced Damian. "Now, it's clear from this young man here that Luke is in trouble," she motioned towards Andy and he looked at her. Lucinda glared at Damian. "And I, for one, will not stand around and listen to your excuses while my grandson is going through the hell you put him in."

Damian shook his head at Lucinda. "You have no idea what you're doing," he said.

"I think you should leave," Holden said.

Lily stepped up and stood next to her husband. From Andy's point of view from the table, the smooth-talking Italian man seemed surrounded by a chorus of people who wanted him out of their lives. He straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his slick, black hair. Damian broke from the crowd and headed to the door. He turned just as he went out and said, "This isn't over."

When he was gone, Lily let out a sigh of relief. She put a hand over her face and turned to her husband. "My God, Holden, what have we done to our son?"

"This isn't your fault, darling," Lucinda said. "It's all Damian's doing."

"Andy," Holden said to the boy at the table.

Andy stood. "Yes, sir?"

"Is our son in danger?"

Andy looked around the worried faces. They could never know the horror of the camp—the humiliation, the degradation, the feeling of being alone and wrong just for being who you are.

"It's worse than you think," Andy said.

0000000

This was worse than Eli could have imagined. Dumping this morning's breakfast grease into a giant, empty water jug wasn't exactly the kind of punishment Eli had envisioned for himself—then again, he never thought he'd be in this type of situation. The smell of the thick, amber liquid stifled the small utility closet of the kitchen as he poured the bucketful of artery-clogging mess into the jug. When he first tried to dump it outside in the bushes, a counselor spotted him and told him to have some respect for the environment.

"As if letting this plastic jug rot in the ground for a thousand years isn't respecting the environment," Eli muttered to himself as he drained the liquid. He was alone in the kitchen, the other counselors having left to make sure the campers were doing their chores around the area.

When Eli finished draining the grease into the plastic jug, he put the back of his hand over his mouth to block out the stench of the rank bacon grease, hardly kosher by Jewish standards.

"_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu_," Eli murmured in prayer, asking G-d for forgiveness. When he finished mouthing his prayer, he set the bucket down and turned to leave the room. Before Eli could even scream, a shadowed figure in the doorway clasped his hand over his mouth. Quick as lighting, the intruder lit a lighter in front of Eli's face, the flame dangerously close to his eyes.

"Don't scream!"

Eli looked at the boy, then the flame, then the boy again and saw that it was the same kid who had tried to escape a week or so back—Chaz or Chance or something like that. Whatever his name was, he looked anxious and ready to set Eli on fire.

"I won't hurt you," the boy said. "I just need you to get out of here, okay? You need to leave the kitchen and get as far away from the building as possible, got it?"

Eli nodded vigorously, hoping that if he would comply, this crazy kid might let him leave unharmed. The wild-eyed kid slowly snuffed the flame of the lighter out and took his hand off of Eli's mouth. He motioned to the door. Eli stepped around the boy, watching him as he left.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, looking at the red lighter in the kid's hand.

"It's none of your business," the boy said. "Just do what I told you."

"You're not gonna hurt anyone, are—?"

"_Get out_!" the boy screamed.

Eli jumped at the kid's startling voice and ran for the back door of the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and looked back briefly to see the boy lifting the drum of grease he had just poured, the lighter sticking out of his back pocket like a sinister secret waving back.

0000000

"Open this door!" Rick yelled on the other side of the room in the basement of the main lodge.

As Eli was busy running across the camp to Krieger's office, Luke was looking at the door and wondering if the man could break in.

"You're not supposed to be here," Noah said.

Luke looked at him. "I thought you'd be happy to see me," he said, smiling slightly, grinning out of nervousness.

Noah stared at him and said nothing. Of course he was happy to see Luke—he was the one person he had wanted to see since they were separated. The only thing stopping Noah from taking Luke into his arms was confusion and fear and that horrible beeping noise ringing in the back of his mind, telling him that he was about to be shocked . . .

"You look terrible," Luke said, stepping towards Noah with his hands outstretched. When Noah flinched away, Luke slowly lowered his arms. "What did they do to you?" he asked, suddenly aware that Pastor John may have done something horrible in the name of trying to cure his star pupil.

"They told me you would be safe," Noah said. "They told me they would let you go!"

"And you believed them?" Luke asked, shaking his head.

"I had to!" Noah cried, sniffling away the tears forming in his eyes. He felt betrayed. He felt like no one cared about him or his feelings, that he was so easily blinded at the prospect of saving the man he loved. And now that Luke was here, now that they were trapped in the basement, everything he went through was for nothing.

"I thought . . ." Noah choked on the words, thinking about the chair and the room and that horrible beeping noise on that machine. "I thought if I agreed to . . ." He looked at Luke. "I needed to protect you. I needed you to be out of here so you could be safe!"

"What did they do to you?" Luke cried.

Noah shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Luke took another step towards Noah and tried to hold his hand. "Noah, you have to—"

"Don't touch me!" Noah said, pulling away. He felt a brief panic rising within him, that the beeping noise might go off and he would feel that familiar electrical charge frying his muscles.

Luke was taken aback by Noah's sudden outburst. It was as though he were a scared animal that had been locked in a cage and prodded with sticks. He wanted to kill Pastor John, he wanted to make him pay for what he did to Noah.

Luke reached for Noah again and the man tried to jerk away.

"Let go!" Noah cried.

Luke pulled Noah close to him and held him as though his life depended on it. Noah tried to squirm away, sobbing as Luke embraced him.

"Please, you have to leave," Noah said softly. "Please go."

"It's okay," Luke whispered in his ear. He loosened his grip and Noah relaxed. "It's just you and me down here," he said. "They can't touch us."

"I'm sorry," Noah sobbed, resting his head on Luke's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Noah wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Maybe he felt like part of it was his fault that Luke wasn't sent home in the end. Maybe he was sorry for kissing Luke in the rain that night, that night that felt like years ago, for everyone to see. Maybe all it came down to was that Noah was sorry that they were both stuck in this place, being punished for who they were when the only crime they were guilty of was love.

Luke placed his hands on either side of Noah's face and the two touched foreheads.

"It's gonna be okay, do you understand me?" Luke whispered.

Noah nodded frantically as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"We're going to get out of here," Luke said. "I'm going to save you."

Noah sniffled and held Luke's head. "I love you," he said. "I never stopped loving you, no matter what they did to me."

Luke let out a hurt cry at the thought of Noah being abused by these psychos. He did the only thing he could think of doing in such a fragile time, the only thing he knew that might give Noah even a shred of hope—he kissed him.

Instead of pulling away as Luke had feared, Noah welcomed Luke's lips with urgency, as though his kiss was the only thing that made Luke real at this moment. It brought back a rush of memory, like a warm breeze enveloping him, of the first time they kissed in the rain all those days, week, eons ago. Noah remembered in that moment why he had sacrificed himself for Luke, why he subjected himself to such pain—he did it out of love, and the promise of Luke's lips on his once more when it was all over.

0000000

"Tell me exactly what happened," Nurse Joyce said as she examined the unconscious Theresa.

Pastor John wiped his sweating face and shook his head. "It was an accident," he said, his mind flashing back to Theresa's fall down the stairs after she saw Noah in the room. "One minute, we were talking, and the next her foot slipped—"

"Did she say anything before she fell?" Joyce asked, checking the young redhead's pupils.

Pastor John looked at the nurse, the truth dancing on the end of his tongue. "It all happened so quickly," he said, only half-lying. "I can't be sure about anything at this point."

Suddenly, the door to the sick ward opened and Ricky burst in, out of breath and raging like a branded bull. "Sir!" he cried. "Snyder's on the loose, he's with Mayer in the basement."

"What?" Pastor John cried, standing and turning to face the man. "How did he get down there?"

Nurse Joyce lowered her head and kept her eyes focused closely on Theresa, hoping to avoid their looks of suspicion.

"I'm not sure how it happened," Ricky said, still panting after running to the office.

"This has gotten out of hand," Pastor John said. He felt his every muscle tense up, felt his blood boil with alkaline at the thought of the Snyder kid once more undermining him. Hw wondered where the old man Krieger was at a time like this, how he could just hide out in his office when the camp was falling apart.

"You two go," Nurse Joyce said to the men. "I'll stay with Theresa." She turned back to the woman on the cot, hoping their absence would take the heat off of her.

Pastor John looked back quickly at Theresa, praying to God the woman wouldn't wake up and say a few things she would most certainly regret later. He nodded to Ricky and the two left the room.

"I can't take it anymore," Pastor John said as they left the building. He wasn't aware that his fists were clenched or that his jaw was locked so tightly it hurt his teeth. He would settle this thing with the Snyder kid once and for all—even if it meant beating him within an inch of his life.

As the men walked quickly across the path to the main lodge, Ricky spotted Eli Markowitz running in their direction.

"Markowitz!" Ricky called.

Eli stopped in his tracks, his face ghostly pale. "Hey, I need your help!" he yelled, nearly out of breath.

Ricky went to the boy, another troublemaker set on bending the rules to his own liking when he should have been doing his chores in the kitchen as planned. "You're supposed to be in the mess hall, what're you doing out and about?"

"I need to tell you someth—"

"Ricky, take him back to the kitchen," Pastor John said, walking ahead of them. "I'll settle this with Snyder."

Ricky grabbed Eli's arm and pulled the boy along back the way he came, towards the mess hall. "You got something you need to say, you tell me after your shift is done."

"No, you don't understand!" Eli cried, struggling to get away. That crazy boys words, get as far away from the building as possible, sent a red flag waving in Eli's mind. The look on the kid's face was enough to keep Eli away, never mind his strange fascination with the lighter and the flammable grease. He felt a panic rise in his gut, one that told him he needed to get far away and tell anyone who listened that the boy in the kitchen was dangerous, that he was planning to do something catastrophic. "You need to let me see Krieger!" Eli pleaded as Ricky dragged him down the path by his arm.

"Save your sob story," Ricky said as the neared the kitchen. "You're gonna finish your work, even if it kills you."

0000000

Luke parted his lips from Noah's and smiled through his tears. They looked at each other for a moment, lost in their own togetherness. Noah ran his hand through Luke's hair and knew for sure in that moment, without a doubt, he was in love.

"You shouldn't get into so much trouble on my account," Noah said with a playful smile.

Luke laughed. "What can I say?" He sniffled and wiped his eyes. "I'm made to get into trouble."

The two shared another kiss, lingering and thoughtful. Their tender moment was abruptly halted when the sound of someone trying to kick the door in surprised them.

"Is that Ricky?" Luke asked.

"I haven't heard him in a while," Noah said, looking at the door.

"Come out of there, Snyder!" the voice on the other end called.

"It's Pastor John," Noah said, feeling his heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing the man who had caused him so much pain. He sounded like a madman as he kicked the door, like a killer in one of those slasher movies enacting revenge on the last two survivors. "He's coming in," Noah said, his breathing getting heavier.

Luke stood protectively before Noah as they faced the door. "I'm ready," he said.

"Luke, there might be another way out, try to save yourself!" Noah cried.

The door made a cracking noise as it splintered with the force of the Pastor's boot. He was getting closer with every kick, closer to revealing himself as the nightmare he was.

"I'm not leaving you," Luke said, facing down the door as though he were trying to intimidate the monster before it came through. "I can take him."

After another kick, the Pastor finally made his way through, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges. He fell into the room as the door broke away from him, panting and searching for the two boys inside. His eyes fell squarely on Luke and Noah, and he pointed to them.

"_You_," he said, spitting the word at Luke.

Luke made no move to indicate he was afraid. He stood before Noah defiantly, even though the man was taller than him, and was ready to protect him at all costs. Pastor John took a step forward and the boys stepped back.

"I don't know how you got down here, Snyder," the Pastor said through clenched teeth. "But I'm gonna make sure you never see Noah again."

"You lied to me!" Noah cried from behind Luke. "You told me you had already let Luke go!"

Pastor John made a grab for Luke, ignoring Noah's vehemence. Luke pulled away from the Pastor, but it was too late, the man had him by his wrist and began pulling him towards the broken door.

"Let go of me!" Luke yelled, struggling to get away.

Noah forced himself between the two men and pushed Pastor John away. "Don't touch him!" he cried. "Don't you _ever_ touch him!"

Pastor John came back at Noah with a hard punch to his face. Noah felt a cinderblock swipe at his left cheek and fell backwards.

"Noah!" Luke yelled. He acted on impulse to protect the man he loved and lunged himself at the Pastor. Luke struck the man in the face, hard enough to make Pastor John fall on his back. When the Pastor was floored, Luke got on top of him and raised the man's head up by his shirt collar. "_What did you do to him_?" he cried, talking about Noah's horrible experience. He raised his clenched fist to strike the Pastor again, but the man reacted quicker than Luke and head-butted him with his forehead.

Luke felt a dizzying pain shoot through his head and he fell off the man. Pastor John picked himself off the floor. Noah came at him again, having recovered from his first blow, and charged at the man to knock him back on his ass. The Pastor was yet again too quick for the young man, and struck Noah in the stomach. Noah double over, leaving himself vulnerable for Pastor John to punch him in the face again. Noah fell to the ground in a heap, the coppery taste of blood on his lips and black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Pastor John turned to the Snyder kid on the floor and grabbed him by his hair. "Why do you have to be so damn _difficult_, Luke?" he asked, as if their scuffle was nothing more than a heated exchange of words in his office. He grabbed Luke's collar with his other hand and began pulling the boy out the door.

"No, don't!" Luke cried. The pain of having his hair being pulled, the pain of being taken away from Noah, left Luke helpless as the crazy Pastor dragged him out of the room like a sack of potatoes. "Noah!" Luke yelled, trying his hardest to reach out to the boy who lay in a heap, motionless.

Pastor John somehow managed to get Luke upstairs, and when they were in the hallway, he threw Luke on the floor and turned to lock the door of the basement. "You need to realize when to quit, Luke," the Pastor said, turning to the kid as he breathed heavily on the hardwood. "Some things are just out of your control."

"You'll pay for this!" Luke spat from the ground. "You won't get away with this—it'll all come back around!"

"Get up!" Pastor John yelled, kicking Luke in the stomach to silence him. When the boy didn't move, he leaned over and forced Luke to his feet by his arms. He pushed him down the hallway to the front entrance.

Luke tumbled out of the main lodge, breathless and beaten and scared out of his mind. A few campers and counselors stopped along their paths to watch the scene. Somewhere in the distance, people were shouting and running. Pastor John took his attention away from Luke for a second. He stuck his nose in the air and smelled a familiar scent not unlike a roaring campfire, only this smell was stronger, more intense than any campfire he had ever built.

"Fire!" someone yelled in the distance. "There's a fire!"

Pastor John looked to the mess hall and saw flames licking the side of the building near the kitchen. He looked down at Luke, wondering what to do with the boy when there was a building on fire so close by. Luke raised his head slightly and stared at the Pastor with daggers in his eyes.

"It'll all come back around," he said.

Before the Pastor could respond, a loud BOOM! ripped through the camp, as loud as thunder, as loud as a truck crashing down from the sky. The ground shook and people everywhere screamed and yelled. Pastor John felt the shockwave of the blast and fell to his knees, covering his head for any invisible shrapnel. He looked to mess hall again, and saw a billow of black smoke coming from the kitchen where the explosion happened. As the smoke rose to the sky, Pastor John recognized a split-second feeling that had gripped his heart in the moment of the blast: he was afraid for his soul.

**To be continued**


	17. The Aftermath: Eli

**NOTE: I'm sooooo sorry it's taken me forever to write this next chapter! I just got finished writing another fanfic in between this one, and there's so much going on in these last few chapters, I get intimidated. Also, school and work has taken it's toll. But don't worry! More chapters will be coming soon. Thank you all for being so patient!**

* * *

"It's okay," the policewoman said. She held her notepad patiently, the pen hovering above the paper as she waited for a testimonial. "Take your time, I know this is hard."

Eli turned his head slightly on the pillow of his hospital bed. His right ear was bandaged and pulsating with pain, muted to any noise or voice. He stared out the window of his hospital room. His mother sat nearby with a damp handkerchief in her hand, occasionally dabbing her eyes as she lamented the state of her silent, shaken son.

"I'm sorry to have to do this right now," the young, pretty policewoman said. "But you were there when the explosion happened, and it's best to get as fresh a perspective as possible for police records."

"Please, can't you have some pity?" Eli's mother asked. She rubbed her flat belly where her baby was growing inside, as if to shield it from the pain Eli was feeling.

Eli closed his eyes and saw fire. He opened his eyes and saw fire again. Everything around him was burning, screaming, begging to be spared from death.

"_Yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba_," Eli whispered.

The policewoman looked at Eli's mother. "What's he saying?" she asked.

Mrs. Turner, formerly Mrs. Markowitz, looked at the policewoman. "He's reciting the Mourners' Kaddish. It's a prayer for the dead."

The policewoman looked at Eli and lowered her notepad. She took a step forward and sat in a nearby chair at his bedside. "Please," she said, "you need to tell me what happened out there."

Eli slowly turned his head and looked at her. He licked his dry lips. "A lot of bad things," he said.

0000000

**Six hours earlier**

Eli opened his eyes slowly, convinced he was dead. He heard a high-pitched ringing in his ears, a deafening buzz that made his brain throb in agony. When his eyes focused, Eli saw treetops swaying against the gray backdrop of the late evening sky. Dark clouds rolled beyond the tall pines. A steady stream of black smoke joined the cluster, chasing the gray cumulonimbus like a monster. Eli blinked and drew a shaky breath, his entire body paralyzed by fear and shock.

Eli rolled to his side and saw that he was in the middle of the woods, having been tossed back like a rag doll after some sort of explosion. He remembered being dragged back to the kitchen by Ricky, he remembered seeing the kitchen in flames and a strange smell coming from the ovens. The kid with the lighter—Chad or Chuck or something like that—was nowhere to be found. Eli sat up and touched his right ear where everything was muted, save for the ringing noise piercing his brain. He pulled his hand back and saw blood on his fingers.

"Oh my God," Eli said. He could barely hear his own words. He stood on shaking legs and clutched the side of his head, dizzy from the pain. He looked around the woods with blurry vision, his glasses having been knocked off sometime during the explosion. "Hello?" Eli cried out. His own voice sounded like it had been muffled by a pillow. Eli looked around for any sign of Ricky, but the man was gone.

Eli followed the rising smoke to the mess hall, and saw what used to be the kitchen engulfed in flames. He half-ran, half-walked to the scene, his body still adjusting to what had happened. Muted voices, like the sound of people yelling through blankets, reached Eli's one good ear.

"Help!" someone cried. "Somebody help us!

"Get out of the cabins!" another yelled. "The fire's spreading too fast!"

Eli ran around the mess hall, the heat of the flames engulfing his body, and saw that a strong wind had spread the flames from the mess hall to the east cabins. People were running about, delirious from the explosion, trying in vain to snuff out the fires with water from the lake. Eli saw the windows blown out on a few of the cabins from the shockwave of the explosion. A few campers exited the huts, bleeding and crippled from flying shrapnel.

Eli felt someone grab his arm and spin him around. Pastor John held him by the shoulders, a wild, frantic look in his eyes. He asked Eli a panicked question, but Eli only caught part of it in his good ear.

"What?" Eli yelled, turning his head.

"Where's Ricky?!" Pastor John cried in Eli's left ear.

Eli couldn't answer. He barely knew where he was at the moment, feeling as though he had awoken in an odd sort of nightmare. He pointed to the only place he knew where the camp counselor could be, in the mouth of the flames that swallowed the mess hall.

0000000

As soon as the Pastor was out of sight, Luke struggled to his feet, weak from the insane holy man's brutal beating. He knew there was chaos around him—the suffocating stench of thick smoke from nearby, the cries of pain and desperation, the sharp wind that sliced through the camp and intensified the fire. None of it mattered to Luke. He ran back inside the main lodge, through the entryway, down the narrow hall to that ominous door.

Luke ran down the stairs to the basement. His heart was beating a mile a minute, his brain thinking of nothing but his one mission: get Noah to safety. Luke burst through the doors of the room and saw Noah lying exactly where he had left him. He quickly knelt to his side and turned Noah over on his back.

"Noah?" Luke asked. "Can you hear me?"

Noah opened his eyes slowly. His left cheek was bruised and his lips glistened with fresh blood. He squinted and stared up at Luke as though he were an angel from on high.

"Luke?" Noah said. He reached out a hand and touched Luke's cheek to make sure the man was real.

Luke smiled. "Yeah, it's me." He placed his hand over Noah's and squeezed it gently.

"You came back for me," Noah said. He sat up slowly, painfully.

Luke let out a small laugh. "Of course I did," he said. He took Noah's hand from his cheek and kissed it. "I told you I would save you."

Noah fell forward into Luke's arms and hugged him. They stayed like that for a moment, holding onto each other in the darkness of the basement to grasp whatever sanity was left in the world. Finally, Luke pulled away and looked at Noah.

"We have to leave," he said. "This place is burning to the ground."

0000000

Ryan frantically searched the campground, frantic from the commotion. He had heard the ear-splitting blast of the propane tank as he stalked the office buildings, but he didn't know what to make of the sound at first. Was it a bomb? Did the rapture finally descend upon this hellhole? As Ryan ran up and down various paths leading to the cabins, to the Serenity Lodge, to wherever someone might have answers, he felt alone and scared. He didn't know where his friends were or even if they were okay.

When Ryan saw Eli aimlessly wandering near the main lodge, he ran to his friend and grabbed his shoulders. "Eli!" he cried.

Eli blinked at him, still in shock over the accident. "Ryan," he said.

They hugged. Ryan breathed an air of relief that someone had made it so far. "What's happening?" he asked. "Where is everyone?"

"I don't know!" Eli shouted, louder than he needed to. "I saw it happen—someone started the fire and the propane tank blew up!"

"Where's Luke and Noah?" Ryan yelled. "Where's Paul?"

"I don't know!" Eli cried.

Ryan turned his head as someone ordered more water for the fire that was spreading to the main office building. Indeed, the strong wind had picked the flames up from the mess hall and dumped it on the offices like an infectious cancer spreading throughout the camp. Ryan touched the jumble of keys in the pocket of his khakis and suddenly remember that Krieger was still in that building, locked in his office after Ryan had knocked him out cold in order to get the keys to make a getaway.

Ryan snapped his eyes shut. He knew he couldn't just leave the man in there to die like an animal. He looked at Eli and touched his shoulder. "Stay here!" he yelled. "If you see anyone, don't let them out of your sight!"

Ryan ran to the building. He pushed past the counselors telling him to get away, that the fire was spreading too quickly, and made his way to Krieger's office. On the other side of the workplace, Ryan could hear Krieger pounding on the door, demanding to be let out. Ryan hesitated, knowing the man would surely kill him if he saw him with the keys to the camp in his hands.

"Open this door!" Krieger yelled, pounding on the wood. "Someone let me out!"

Ryan took a deep breath and flipped through the rings of keys to the one he knew would open the door. Ryan said a silent prayer to himself as he slid the key into the lock, and opened the door. When the door opened, Krieger had a look of gratitude and relief of his face—until, of course, he realized Ryan had freed him.

"You!" Krieger spat, pointing a finger at Ryan. He lunged at Ryan and wrapped his hands around the boy's neck, pushing him up against the wall.

"Don't!" Ryan pleaded.

"Just what in the _hell_ were you trying to pull?" Krieger shouted, knocking Ryan's head against the wall.

"There's a fire!" Ryan managed to eek out as Krieger choked him.

Krieger looked at the boy, his stern, angry face softening a bit. "_What_?" he asked.

"We have to leave!" Ryan cried. "People might be dying right now!"

A look of terror came over Krieger's face. He released Ryan from his grip and ran outside. Ryan clutched his aching neck and breathed deeply. He followed the man outside and Krieger was standing on the path, gazing at the traveling flames with a look of horror on his face.

"No," Krieger said softly, shaking his head.

"We need to call for help," Ryan said. "This whole place is going to be burned to the ground!"

"No!" Krieger yelled. He seemed to not hear what Ryan was telling him. He seemed to be off in his own world, his own thoughts bombarding him as he watched his camp become engulfed in the flames of hell. He began running towards the commotion, wildly following the source of the destruction as if he could stamp it all out with just the cry of his voice.

Ryan watched the mad man disappear into the smoke and crowd of people, then ran back to the main lodge where Luke and Noah were with Eli.

"Ryan!" Luke called. He hugged him quickly.

"Has anyone seen Paul?" Ryan asked.

"Last time I saw him, he was in the detention center," Luke said.

Ryan felt the keys in his pocket again. "Okay, here's the deal—you guys fan out and look for him around the cabins in case they let him out. I'm gonna go to the detention center and let him out if he's still in there." He turned to head to the detention center when Noah grabbed his arm and held him back.

"You can't!" Noah said. "The fire is too fast."

"We need to get away from the camp!" Eli yelled. "Everyone is going insane!"

"We can't just leave him!" Ryan cried. "No one gets left behind!" He broke from Noah's grip and ran towards the detention center.

0000000

**Six hours later**

"And then?" the policewoman asked. She was transfixed by Eli's story, almost forgetting for a second that she was conducting official business. But the boy's face had been so faraway, his voice so clear and engaging, that she couldn't help but be sucked into his story.

Eli slowly tore his eyes away from the window and looked at her. "And then what?" he asked.

The policewoman blinked and cleared her throat. "I mean, what happened after your friend went into the building?"

Eli stared at her, the memory haunting his brain, sucking the color from his face. "And then we didn't see him again after that."

The policewoman looked at Eli's mother and Mrs. Turner had her handkerchief to her face, dabbing her crying eyes as her son spoke. She sniffled and implored her son. "Eli, baby—"

"We looked for Paul around the cabins," Eli continued, closing his eyes tightly. "Everyone was running around trying to get away from the fire. By the time we got back to the detention center, the place was already in flames." Eli paused, swallowing the knot in his throat. "Noah tried to go in and save Ryan, but Luke held him back. And . . . then . . ."

Eli opened his eyes, tears drowning his brown irises. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

The policewoman felt her heart ache for the boy. She had seen many things on the Force after nearly seven years—woman beaten by their husbands, children left for dead in disgusting homes. Never before had she heard of such chaos.

"It's alright," she said. "Take your time."

Eli sniffled again and turned his head toward the window where a light pattering of rain beat at the sill. "And then the roof collapsed," he said. "Paul made it out, but Ryan didn't."

The policewoman looked at Eli softly. She scribbled in her notepad and closed it quickly, wanting more than anything to be off this case. She cleared her aching throat. "Thank you," she said. She stood from her chair and headed towards the door. The policewoman turned before heading out and said, "I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

Eli looked at her and sniffled. "Yeah," he said, wiping his tears away. "Me too."

When she left, Eli's mother wiped her eyes and put her handkerchief in her purse. She scooted her chair closer to her son and put her hand on his. "Eli—"

Eli jerked his hand away and placed it in his lap. He turned his head so his good ear faced her, willing to at least not shut her out completely. Eli's mother sighed and lowered her head.

"Baby, I'm so sorry for everything."

"Why did you make me go there?" Eli said, turning his head to look at her.

Mrs. Turner opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. "I thought . . . I thought it would be good for you."

"_Good_ for me?" Eli scoffed. "Or good for Warren?" He spit out the name of his stepfather, the bitter taste on his tongue like bruised fruit.

"Well," Eli's mother said, "you don't have to worry about him anymore."

Eli looked at her and she turned her head away, hurt and embarrassed. "What happened?" he asked his mother.

She looked at him and gave him a small, sarcastic grin. "He left me," she said. "He decided he didn't want to be a father when he found out I was pregnant." She put a hand to her face and broke down, sobbing.

Eli watched her helplessly. He wasn't sure how he should feel—that the man who had gotten him into this situation in the first place was now gone, but left his mother broken-hearted.

"How can you ever forgive me, Eli?" his mother cried, looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks. "How can God ever forgive me for making you turn your back on your religion?" She took the handkerchief from her purse again and wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you, baby. I just . . . wanted us to be a family. I wanted us to be happy."

Eli looked her over, his heart softening to her cries of forgiveness. It was all he could have asked from his mother in that moment—recognition that she had been wrong and that no man was worth tearing their family apart. Eli reached his hand out for her to grab. She took his hand with pleading hopeful eyes.

"We can still be happy, Ma," he said. "We were always a family, even when it was just the two of us."

His mother smiled through her tears and nodded vigorously. "You know I love you very much, Elijah."

"I love you too, Ma." He released his mother's hand and wiped his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, baby," she said.

"Have you left the temple for good?" Eli asked.

Eli's mother looked at him for a moment. She lowered her eyes, thinking back to a time when she was stupid and selfish and in love. "I did," she responded. "For a while, anyway." She smiled slightly at her son. "Do you think you can help me come back?"

Eli returned her gesture and grinned. "That's what family is for," he said.

Eli's mother pursed her lips and nodded. She stood and climbed into bed next to her son, wrapping him in her arms as though he were still a child. Eli held onto his mother and felt fortunate enough to have someone so loving, so understanding when he knew his friends from camp would have a harder time with their own families. He thought about Ryan and suddenly felt a sharp pain ripping through his heart, knowing he would never see his friend again. Eli began sobbing into his mother's chest and she stroked his hair.

"Mom," he cried. "I want to go home."

She made no response, only caressed his aching head and kissed his temple. She held him tighter as he cried and began singing a soft lullaby in Hebrew, one she used to sing to him when he was a boy. Eli drifted to sleep at the sound of his mother's comforting song, and dreamed about sunlight peeking through a patch of gray clouds.

**TBC**


	18. The Aftermath: Luke

Luke stood in the rain outside of the hospital. He used a side door near the waiting room so the throng of reporters at the guest entrance of the hospital wouldn't bombard him with questions. Out here, it was quite, still . . . peaceful.

Luke closed his eyes and tiled his head towards the night sky. Fat raindrops kissed the skin of his face, washing away the smell of smoke and death. He wondered if this kind of solitude was what it was like to be dead, to be completely at peace with everything even as the world burned around him. Luke couldn't remember a time when cold rain felt as good.

"Luke?"

He opened his eyes to the sound of a woman's voice. Luke lowered his head and looked over his shoulder. His mother looked at him in the doorway of the hospital. Luke couldn't remember ever seeing that look on his mother's face before—a mixture of sadness and relief all at once. She seemed older, different than the woman he had known before camp. Or maybe it was Luke who had changed.

"Mom," he said. The rain caught his word and drowned it out.

Lily nodded ever-so-slightly. "Will you come inside?" she begged. "You're soaked."

Luke tilted his face towards the dark sky again. The feel of the cold rain was all too refreshing. "How did you find me?" he asked.

"Your friend, Andy, came to us in Oakdale. He told us everything." She paused and wished her son would come inside where it was warm and dry and safe. "We were on the road, and we heard on the radio that the camp was on fire. I thought . . . I thought—"

"I'm sorry I pushed you down the stairs," Luke said, his voice cracking as tears swelled inside of him. He looked at his mother, rain running down his cheeks. He wasn't crying yet, but the rain made it seem otherwise. "I'm sorry I made you have the baby early."

Lily's face softened. "It's okay, sweetie." She held her hand out to him, enough to catch the raindrops on her arms. "Please come inside."

Luke hesitated a moment. He closed his eyes and soaked in the coldness of the rain until his soul couldn't take it anymore. He went to his mother and took her hand. Lily let her son inside, and once they were safe in the confines of the hospital wing, Luke's mother pulled her son to her and hugged him tightly.

Luke rested his head on his mother's shoulder, knowing fully well that his damp hair and clothes were making her wet. Lily rubbed his back and kissed his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed in his ear. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this."

"I thought you were ashamed of me," Luke said, finally letting go and crying into his other's shoulder. "I thought you and Dad hated me, so I let Damien send me away."

"Oh, baby," Lily cried, kissing her son over and over again on the cheek. "I'm so sorry I said all those things when you told me you were gay." She took her son's head in her hands and lifted him from her shoulder to look him in the eye. "I don't care who you are—you're my son and I'll always love you."

Her words made Luke cry even harder. Her love filled him with such warmth and happiness, he had forgotten the rain had ever made him feel cold. Luke hugged his mother again and whispered in her ear, "I love you, too."

0000000

When Luke arrived in the waiting room with his mother, he saw his father and grandmother waiting for him. They stood when they saw him, their faces brightening.

"Thank God!" Lucinda cried.

"We thought you were dead," Holden said. He went to his son and hugged him.

Luke savored his father's embrace and felt himself smile slightly. Everything he had been thinking all along wasn't true—his family loved him and they blame him for Lily's accident.

"You gave us all quite a scare!" Lucinda cried.

Luke parted from his father and smiled widely at her. "Grandmother," he said, opening his arms to give her a hug.

"Oh my goodness," Lucinda sighed into his shoulder. She put her hands on her grandson's arms and held him out to her. "Your friend Andrew made it seem like you were in a world of trouble," she said.

"I was," Luke replied. He looked over his grandmother's shoulder as Andy stood by, a sheepish grin on his friend's face. Luke moved to him and gave his friend a hug. "Thank you," he said.

Andy patted his friend's back. "I could leave you guys behind," he said.

"Sir," a woman at the nurse's station said, "you need to calm down."

"You don't understand!" a man's voice said. "My friend was in that fire at Echo Lake, I need to know—"

"Sir, a lot of people had family and friends who were in that fire," the nurse continued.

Luke parted from Andy and turned to the nurse's station nearby where a man with his back to Luke's family pleaded with a nurse.

"Can you just check again, please?" the man said. "His name is Andrew Tillman."

Andy took a step forward at the mention of his name. "Who is that?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, our records don't indicate anyone admitted by that name."

Luke watched as Andy's face suddenly became slack. "Ian!" he called out.

The boy with brown hair and a tight shirt turned when he heard his name. He looked at Andy, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Andy?" he called out.

Andrew's face broke into a wide smile. The man named Ian ran to him and hugged him tightly. "Oh my God!" he cried. "Oh my God, you're alive!"

Luke watched as the two kissed and realized that this was the Ian Andy had called on the phone all those days ago, back when they were getting Eli's necklace from Pastor John and Luke owed him a favor. They embraced each other as if they hadn't seen one another in years.

"How did you find me?" Andy asked.

"When you called, I skipped town to come and see you. I thought I could get to you somehow, and then I heard on the news about the fire, and I thought you were dead!"

Andy pulled his boyfriend close again and hugged him, wrapping his arms around the taller man's waist. Ian stroked Andy's hair and kissed the top of his head.

Watching the two act so tenderly towards one another made Luke ache for Noah. He slipped away from the crowd in the waiting room and walked down the hall. He wondered if there was an officer questioning Noah in one of the rooms, or if a nurse was looking at the bruises and cuts Pastor John had given him. Luke passed by police officers and doctors as they buzzed about, searching for answers and antidotes. He came to the chapel in the east wing of the hospital and stood before the door. Something about the promised quietness of the room drew Luke inside, and when he stepped in the small room with a few pews and a single stained-glass window on the other end, he saw Noah sitting in the first pew, his head bent low.

Luke walked over to Noah's row silently. There were no other people inside the chapel besides the eyes of the martyrs and saints that hung in tapestries along the wall. He sat down next to Noah and held his hands together in his lap.

"Didn't think I'd find you in _here_," he said.

Noah raised his head and looked out at the small wooden crucifix that stood on the altar. "I needed to get away," he said. "There's been a lot of commotion since the death toll has been piling up."

Luke winced at Noah's curtness. He lowered his head. "I still can't believe Ryan is dead," he said. "He was a good person—he didn't deserve to die like that."

Noah shook his head slightly, his face stern and contemplative. "You should have let me go in after him," he said.

Luke looked at Noah. "There was nothing you could have done," he said. "The roof was about to collapse, you would have ended up dead just like Ryan and Charles."

Noah squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out the simple truth Luke was expressing. "I thought . . . I thought I had time to get him out of there," he said. "I thought we didn't leave people behind—"

"You would have _died_, Noah," Luke said, taking the man's chin in his fingers and forcing him to look at him. "Ryan chose to stay and get Charles out. He didn't have to, but he did."

"And we _chose_ not to go in after Ryan," Noah said, looking at Luke with tears in his eyes.

"I couldn't lose you, Noah!" Luke cried. He released the man's chin and stroked his cheek. "I need you here. I need you to be safe."

Noah closed his eyes again as Luke echoed the words he had used to stop Luke from leaving camp the night they kissed. He put his hand over Luke's and kissed his palm. A single tear streamed down his cheek and landed in Luke's palm.

"I'm glad you're okay," Noah whispered.

Luke gave him a trembling smile. "Me too."

Noah smiled back, his lips quivering as he held back his tears. He lowered Luke's hand from his face and gave it a squeeze. The two turned back to face the crucifix on the altar, a grim reminder of the outcome of the events.

"A nurse came in and lit a candle about an hour ago," Noah said. "She told me someone else was reported dead from the fire."

Luke looked at Noah, unsure of what to say. He recounted the number of dead the police had verified so far. Ryan. Charles. Ricky. Trevor. Countless others. Countless other injured. Eli had told a police officer, who had in turn told Luke, that Chase was still unaccounted for. Chase was the boy Eli had told them started the fire.

"How did this happen?" Noah asked. "How did we get here?" He stared at the cross on the altar as if it had all the answers. Luke thought that, despite everything that had happened that the camp, maybe it did.

"I don't know," Luke said. He slipped his hand into Noah's. "The only thing I'm thankful about, though . . . is that it all brought me to you."

Noah looked at Luke as the man stared ahead at the altar. He leaned over and kissed his cheek tenderly, deeply, a gesture of affection and comfort. Noah touched his forehead to Luke's temple and Luke closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of what it was supposed to feel like in a place of worship: pure love.

After sitting together a few moments more, Luke and Noah heard the door of the chapel open. They didn't turn to see who it was, merely waited until the person sat down next to them on the same pew. Paul sat beside Luke, their silence an indicator that words were, at this point, superfluous. Luke looked over at Paul and the two shared a mutual smile, a small grin that let them both know they had been to hell and back together.

"Nice scrubs," Luke said, indicating Paul's clothes.

"I can't stand those hospital gowns," Pau said, looking over at the altar. "I begged the nurse to let me borrow an extra pair of scrubs."

Luke nodded. There was silence again.

"How's your throat?" Noah asked Paul. He didn't take his eyes off the holy symbol on the small altar.

"Better," Paul responded, looking down at his hands as they were clasped together in his lap. For a moment, it looked as though he were praying. "I feel bad taking up a bed when all I'm being treated for is smoke inhalation."

"How's your dad?" Luke asked.

Paul sighed and looked at the crucifix. "He's scared. He blames himself for a lot of things."

There was a pause. The room was heavy with the light from the stained-glass window, an ethereal picture of Mary Magdalene holding baby Jesus.

"How's that for a turn of events?" Luke said.

A few moments later, the door of the chapel opened again.

"I figured I'd find you bums in here, of all places."

It was Eli. He walked down the aisle to their pew and sat down next to Paul in his hospital gown. His ear was still bandaged but he seemed lighter, happier than before.

"Nice dress," Paul said, giving him a sideways smile.

"You can borrow it sometime," Eli said, looking out at the stained-glass window.

The boys sat in the pew, absorbing the silence of the chapel. Luke watched the flame of at least a dozen prayer candles flicker in the air conditioning of the room, and wondered how many of those candles were for those who died at the camp.

The door of the chapel again opened and another person entered. They walked silently to crowded pew, their footsteps light and contemplative. Andy sat down next to Eli, filling the pew up until there was no more space.

"Fancy meeting you all here," Andy said.

Eli and Paul looked over at the man and smiled, this being the first time they had seen each him in a while. "Hey, man," Eli said, holding his hand out.

Andy squeezed Eli's hand and nodded. "Good to see you again, man."

"You missed all the fun," Paul said, reached across Eli to pat Andy's shoulder.

"I'm glad you guys are all okay," Andy said. Right after he said it, Andy felt a sharp pain in his gut. The boys looked out at the altar, their minds wandering to Ryan and Charles and everyone else who didn't make it. "I saw Ryan's family in the waiting room just now," Andy went on, his face scrunching up as he felt the urge to cry. "They called Krieger a murderer."

"Amen," Luke said.

Silence once more. Noah rested his weary head on Luke's shoulder, wanting more than anything to sleep away the pain of missing Ryan. Luke squeezed his hand and kissed the top of Noah's head. Paul saw how comforted Noah had been by Luke's touch and found himself slipping his hand into Luke's, wanting nothing more in that moment than to feel a connection with something, anything greater than him. Luke looked over at him and smiled. Eli saw Paul's gesture out of the corner of his eye and put his hand in Paul's. Without any indication, Andy followed suit and took Eli's hand in his.

The boys sat together in silence, their hands clasped tightly to one another's, praying to whomever would listen for the safe delivery of the souls lost this night. Luke felt a course of electricity running through both of his hands, as if the men around him carried a current that passed through all of them, connecting them together. In that moment, with the eyes of God watching them in that chapel, the men sitting together became brothers, inseparable even in death.

"What's gonna happen to us?" Noah asked. His question was directed at no one in particular.

"I don't know," Eli said. He rested his head on Andy's shoulder and his friend leaned on him.

Paul swallowed hard. That question had occurred to him in more than one instance—first when he was trapped in that room in the detention center, the smoke filling his lungs and the threat of death looming just over his head until Ryan burst into his room and freed him. He examined that question again when he woke up in the hospital, his lungs burning from the smoke he had inhaled, feeling helpless as his father begged for his forgiveness.

"Whatever happens," Paul said, "it's been a privilege knowing all of you."

His statement was met with silence, but Paul knew his friends felt the same way as they all squeezed each others' hands. They sat in the chapel for a long time, gazing at the crucifix, the altar, the stained-glass baby Jesus with a cherub face. For the first time in a long time, each of the boys felt at peace with God.

**TBC**


	19. The Aftermath: Krieger & Pastor John

As the nurse checked Krieger's vitals with a flashlight, she nodded at his responsive pupils and clicked the small beam off. "You'll live to fight another day, it seems," she said.

Krieger didn't respond. He lay back on the pillow of his hospital bed, his hands bandaged from the burns he received trying to snuff out the fire that had blazed out of control in the blink of an eye. Those screams, those cried for help . . .

"I'll be back to check on you in a little bit," the nurse said, walking to the door. She turned before opening the door and said, "You had a lucky escape, Mr. Krieger." When he didn't respond, the pretty young nurse left the room.

Krieger turned his head slowly to the dark window as rain pelted the glass. Where was this rain when he needed it most? Why hadn't it come to douse out the flames that had incinerated the camp he worked so hard to build? Krieger closed his eyes and all he could see was the fire swallowing the buildings of his camp, injured young men running around trying to put the flames out despite the fact that they hated being there in the first place. He saw Ryan running into the detention center, saw the roof collapsing on the boy just as another exited in time.

"_You killed my boy!"_

The desperate pleas of a father who had lost his son.

"_You're a murderer!"_

Ryan's father had burst into his room moments ago, blaming him for his son's death and the death of countless others. Before security took the man away, he pointed to Krieger and said, "It'll all come back around."

And Krieger believed him.

He turned his head away from the window, remembering that passage from Matthew 3:11, "I baptize you with water for repentance . . ."

Krieger's aching hands threw his covers off and he swung his legs out of bed.

_But after me will come one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not fit to carry._

Krieger stood on shakings legs and walked to the closet of his room where the doctor had hung his clothes.

_He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with __fire__._

Krieger dressed himself slowly, putting on his button-down shirt and slacks as though he we mentally preparing for a big speech in front of a very important crowd. His clothes still smelled like smoke, were still warm from the night's events. He put on his jacket and fumbled with his tie. Krieger undid the knot and straightened his striped tie, remembering a time when he was young and his father first taught him the rite of passage before heading off to preach to a congregation of sinners.

"_It'll all come back around."_

Krieger snapped out of his daydream and finished his tie, pulling it tightly up to his neck, tighter than he was usually comfortable with. He turned and looked at his reflection in the mirror, making sure his appearance was presentable. He ran a hand through his hair to slick it back and straightened his coat. When he was done dressing, Krieger went to his hospital bed and stripped the sheets off. He bundled the sheets in his arms and looked up at the ceiling at the tiles. Krieger set the sheets on his bed in a heap. He climbed onto the bare bed and moved hear the edge. He poked at one of the tiles on the ceiling to loosen it and pushed it aside, dust and asbestos falling at his bare feet. Krieger moved another tile over until there was nothing but a metal rod in the between the empty space. He tugged on it, testing its weight, and gathered the sheet from the middle of his bed.

_Our father . . ._

Krieger tied the sheet around the metal rod that had held the tiles in place and knotted it tightly.

_. . . who art in Heaven . . ._

Krieger stood on the edge of the bed and wrapped the sheet around his neck, feeling nothing but a calm sense of duty even as he knew the nurse might walk in at any minute.

_. . . hallowed be Thy name._

He gave the sheet a good tug again to test the durability of the metal bar and brought his feet closer together.

_Thy kingdom come, Thou will be done . . ._

_Murder! Murderer!_

Krieger closed his eyes.

_You killed my boy!_

He whetted his dry lips and whispered, "Please forgive me."

And then, he jumped.

0000000

"Whatever he told you," Pastor John said as the detective stared down at him, "he's lying."

Detective Rivera had been on the Force long enough to know when a man was lying, even a man of God like the Pastor before him. "Sir, we've been getting testimonials from the survivors of the camp that there have been instances of abuse," Rivera said, leaning on the table in the lounge of the hospital that now served as his interrogation room. "If these cases of abuse are verified, and if they're linked to the fire, you could be facing criminal charges."

Pastor John's face twitched, but only slightly. He knew he wasn't wrong—he knew he was only doing what God was telling him to do and that the Lord would save him just as he had saved him from harm during the fire. A small smile curled his thin lips.

"You can't prove anything," he said.

Detective Rivera pulled a small notepad from his back pocket and flipped it open. "One of the counselors at the camp . . ." he paused and read the name. "Ms. Theresa Morgan told me she saw you and another counselor giving shock therapy to a young man." Rivera put the notepad back in his pocket and stared down at the man before him. "Did you know it's illegal in this state to practice aversion therapy if you're not a licensed psychologist?"

Pastor John's self-assured smile faded. For a moment, he felt a panic rise within him not unlike the panic he felt when he first saw the propane tank explode at the camp earlier. He cleared his throat. "Whatever Ms. Morgan saw, she's clearly mistaken." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave the detective a grin. "We've never performed shock therapy on any of our camp members."

"We have multiple witnesses that state otherwise," Detective Rivera said. "And if the young man who testified against you is willing to undergo a brain scan, we can determine if there has been any structural pathology." River clenched his jaw and stared the man down, hoping against hope this all-too-calm Pastor wouldn't see through his lie.

Pastor John's smile went away completely, his heart racing in his chest. He sat up in his chair, willing to defend his actions to the death. "He gave consent!" Pastor John cried. "You can't arrest me if he gave consent!"

Detective Rivera whipped out his notepad again and clicked open his ballpoint pen. "Can you provide evidence of the boy's consent?"

"He signed a contract!" Pastor John said. He was blindly groping at whatever evidence he could use in his defense.

Rivera peered over at the Pastor from his notepad. "Do you have a copy of the contract within your possession?"

Pastor John opened his mouth to say that yes, he did have a copy of it filed away at the camp . . . when he remember with a certainty that dawned on him, like the certainty of death, that the building he had filed the contract in had since gone up in flames.

The door of the lounge burst open suddenly and an officer entered the room. "Sir, we have a situation," he said.

Detective Rivera looked over that the policeman. "What is it?"

"It's Krieger, sir," the policeman said. "He's killed himself."

Pastor John stood from his chair and Rivera turned to face the officer, his mouth slack. "He _what_?" Rivera cried. "When?"

"Just now," the policeman said. "The nurse found him. He hung himself."

Pastor John felt himself becoming light-headed. He sat back down on his chair, dizzy with the news that the man who had founded the camp at Echo Lake, the man whose empire helped hundreds of lost teenagers had spit in the face of God and killed himself.

Detective Rivera looked back at Pastor John and studied the man's stunned face. "Take the Pastor to the station for further questioning," he said to the policeman. "There's something going on here that's bigger than we thought."

The policeman did as he was told and took out a pair of handcuffs. He went to the Pastor, uneasy about arresting a man of God, and Pastor John looked up at him in disbelief.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Sir, we need to take you downtown for questioning," the policeman said.

"I suggest you go quietly," Rivera said, opening the door to the hallway.

The policeman cuffed Pastor John and helped him to his feet. He began escorting the man out to the hallway, until the Pastor realized he reality of the situation and began to struggle.

"This is a mistake!" he cried. "You can't arrest me, I haven't done anything!"

"Sir, this is just a formality!" the officer cried as he led the Pastor out to the hallway.

"Wait, wait!" Pastor John yelled. "You have to listen to me!"

They passed the chapel as they made their way down the hall, and Luke and his friends exited the room to see Pastor John being led down the hall in handcuffs. The Pastor noticed them and a surge of rage boiled inside of him.

"You bastards!" the Pastor yelled at the boys. "Krieger's dead and it's all your fault!"

Luke looked at Noah, bewildered.

"What happened?" Eli whispered to Paul.

"Sir, calm down!" the policeman said as Pastor John struggled to be free.

"You've ruined everything!" the Pastor cried to the boys. "You'll all burn in hell for this!"

"Sir!" the policeman yelled, pulling the Pastor away from the boys.

Pastor John looked directly at Noah. "I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

Luke moved towards the Pastor, ready to pummel him to the ground, but Noah stopped him. "Let him go," Noah whispered.

"I should have killed you!" Pastor John cried as he was led down the hall. A few doctors and nurses stopped along their paths to watch the scene.

Luke clenched his fist, remembering all the horrible things the Pastor had said about him, how he had yanked the chain from Eli's neck and slap Andy across the face. He remembered nothing holy or moral about this so-called "man of God," only terror and fear and the feel of a cold hand striking his face.

"You're not a man of God," Luke muttered, watching the Pastor being led down the hall.

Luke remembered the isolation cabin and the detention center that would become Ryan's grave. He remembered the look on Noah's face when he tried to free him from the basement, the terror in the man's eyes when Luke tried to show him love.

"You're _not_ a man of God!" Luke yelled, breaking away from Noah.

He remembered the broom closet where Jamie had almost raped him, the pointless exercises in the Serenity Lodge that told him he wasn't normal.

"You are _not_ a man of God!" Luke cried louder.

He remembered the rain and the stars, his first kiss with Noah and the smug smile on Pastor John's face when he told him there was something wrong with him.

"You're _not_ a man of God! You're _not_ a man of God!"

Luke's words echoed down the hall of the hospital wing, ringing in the ears of every doctor, nurse, and police officer that stood nearby. Luke shouted the words until the Pastor had turned the corner with the policeman and was out of sight, until his throat was sore and he had atoned for every horrible thing the man had done to them.

"Luke," Noah said softly. He touched the man's arm and beckoned him to turn away.

Luke turned and faced his friends. They stared at him in a way that let Luke know the end hadn't come, that an evil like Pastor John was far from vanquished, even if the man was given life in prison for what he had done. They looked at him as if saying that the world was full of Pastor John's, that true men of God were hard to find in this world. Feeling defeated, Luke hung his head low and found himself in the arms of Noah.

"It's okay," Noah whispered. "He's gone."

"He'll never be gone," Eli said, looking down the hallway.

They stood together for a moment, contemplating a world without Pastor Johns. Paul turned towards the chapel and opened the door.

"What're you going?" Luke asked, raising his head from Noah's chest.

Paul looked at him. "I'm going to pray for Pastor John." He gave Luke a small smile and disappeared into the chapel.

Luke felt himself smiling slightly, knowing in his heart of hearts that a man like Pastor John may have twisted the word of God in violent ways, but true goodness lay in the souls of his friends.

**TBC**


End file.
